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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25902694">You Say Goodbye and I Say Hello</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rheaird_of_Life/pseuds/Rheaird_of_Life'>Rheaird_of_Life</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Killing Eve (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Also goes without saying that V is a little shit no matter the circumstances, F/F, I think it goes without saying that this is Dark!Eve right from the get go, Murder Wives, Things will get messy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:35:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25902694</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rheaird_of_Life/pseuds/Rheaird_of_Life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Villanelle's latest contract hit doesn't go quite as planned when a certain someone gets to her target first.</p><p>Or the one where Eve is unintentionally initiated into The Twelve</p><p>(Set right around the start of the series)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>252</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Look I know in my last fic I said I was tired of writing but then this little fucker popped into my head so it had to come out. FML. Don't know if this concept has been done before, but if it has...the more the merrier?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She's been planning this kill for weeks.</p><p>For once she did her homework and actually read the file provided. Viktor Kedrin, white male, age fifty-seven, mostly bald, and all around ugly. He was a high profile Russian politician who also happened to be a rather productive and profitable sex trafficker.</p><p>If there's one thing Villanelle doesn't like, it's men who touch others without their consent. She's going to enjoy killing him. She always enjoys killing them, but she will <em>particularly</em> enjoy killing him. As much as she wants to take her time dispatching the bastard, she knows it simply won't work. He's almost perpetually with his girlfriend, Kasia Molkovska. And as misguided, or perhaps <em>entrapped</em>, as the woman is, she doesn't need to die. So it has to be quick and clean.</p><p>Villanelle has no problems killing women. She just doesn't do it unless she's paid to, which isn't very often. Generally speaking, most of the power hungry arseholes of the world were men. Besides, it gave her a little thrill to kill him right under her nose.</p><p>She's been waiting outside of Kedrin's hotel, <em>Montcalm Royal London House, </em>for nearly half an hour. The hotel is at once a mix of the old and the new, with a Georgian tower sprouting from the centre, and all manner of modern amenity within. Which explained the two hundred and fifty pound per night price tag. Just the sort of finery someone as self important as Kedrin would demand.</p><p>Although Villanelle knows the entire layout of the building, she has never set foot in the place and doesn't intend to. There's far too many witnesses and CCTV. She's going to kill him outside of his favourite sushi place, right where there is a brief blind spot.</p><p>If he ever showed his face that is.</p><p>It's a quarter after seven and he still hasn't left.</p><p>The intel she was provided with told her that he always ate at seven o'clock sharp, and her past week of surveillance corroborated that.</p><p>Either Kedrin had a bad stomach ache or something else was going on, something she hadn't prepared for.</p><p>She debates her options for another five minutes, then mutters, “Fuck it,” checks herself in the mirror to make sure her armpit length wig is properly in place, and gets out of the rental car, a grey sedan, perfect for anonymity. Thankfully the clothes she's wearing – striped pants and a sleeveless navy blue and white top - are fashionable enough that she will blend in. Discretely, she feels for the silenced CZ 75 stashed in her purse. She would only use it as a last resort. Killing people up close and personal was a lot more fun.</p><p>Once within the hotel she puts on her most charming persona and smiles widely at the concierge.</p><p>He returns the smile in an equally robotic way and greets her. “Good evening, ma'am. How can I be of service?”</p><p>“I would like a room please,” she tells him in her posh British accent.</p><p>“Of course, ma'am, right away.”</p><p>And so begins a short lived back and forth until she manages to snag the last available room on the floor below Kedrin. Then she hands over her stolen credit card.</p><p>The concierge gives her the room key and seems to purposely let his fingers brush against hers. She ignores this unprofessional conduct and gets on with her job.</p><p>Villanelle enters the elevator, complete with attendant, and does her best to angle her face in such a way as to not be caught on candid camera. The side parting of her long fake hair helps aid in this endeavour.</p><p>“Where to, madam?” asks the attendant exceedingly politely.</p><p>The hotel only had six stories, and Kedrin predictably was at the top.</p><p>“Fifth floor, my good man,” she replies cheerily.</p><p>“Very good,” says the attendant and presses the button.</p><p>An exceedingly short trip later, she steps off, then heads down the carpeted hallway and into the immaculately kept stairwell. On the sixth floor landing she opens the door a crack and takes a surreptitious look. No one is around right now, so she slips out and meanders down the corridor as if she is just headed to her own room.</p><p>When she passes by Kedrin's room, she listens for movement, but hears nothing, save for the somewhat loud television. There's unfortunately no eye hole, so she can't even get a peek inside without breaking in.</p><p>A Do Not Disturb sign is in place.</p><p><em>Well, that explains everything</em>, she grumbles to herself, annoyed she hadn't considered that possibility.</p><p>At the end of the hallway, she skirts into an alcove, part of an oval glass viewing portal for guests. The reflective surface here affords her a distorted view <em>of</em> the guests, should they exit their rooms. She has two options now, either she goes in and does away with both of them, possibly causing a ruckus, or she continues to wait and hopes for the best; that they will eventually leave and go to the sushi place and everything will proceed as planned, albeit delayed.</p><p>Her decision is made for her when Kedrin's door opens mere minutes later.</p><p>She's surprised to find an unaccompanied woman leaving. And if the back of her head is anything to go by, it's <em>not</em> Kasia.</p><p><em>What the fuck</em>.</p><p>The woman appears to be in a hotel uniform and apparently works for the cleaning crew, judging by her cart of supplies. This she wheels down the corridor. But instead of entering the elevator, she glances around, then ditches the cart and heads into the stairwell. As if she too is trying to avoid the CCTV.</p><p>Interest peaked, she forgets all about Kedrin – whom she suspects is dead anyway - and starts tailing the woman from a considerable distance. She follows all the way down to the basement, where the woman enters the custodial closet for several minutes. When she re-emerges, it's like a butterfly out of a cocoon. From sterile clothes and hair, to sexy club attire and free-flowing curls.</p><p>The magnificent creature takes off into the night, Villanelle not far behind, captivated by her beauty.</p><p>The woman goes into the nearest pub, strolls over to the bar and gets herself an ale. Presumably to celebrate a job well done. Villanelle should be furious with her for stealing her thunder. Especially since she actually prepped properly for once and didn't just wing it after a day of surveillance.</p><p>She has no idea who this mysterious woman is, but she would like to, so she begins to make her way over. Unfortunately, someone else is of a similar mind, and beats her to it.</p><p>The smarmy looking businessman with greased back hair gives her the cheesiest pick up line...and the woman actually laughs. Villanelle can't believe it. She's in complete shock when just minutes later, they leave together.</p><p>Pissed off at once again having her thunder stolen, she pursues them, toying with her knife all the while. She was a pretty good throw, she could probably take the guy out if she got a little closer. But who knew what the woman had strapped to her thigh or how fast her reflexes were.</p><p>Erring on the side of caution, she gets on the bus with them instead. They go up top and she stays down below.</p><p>Eleven stops later they finally get off, and just as the doors close, so does she.</p><p>The man leads the woman into his apartment building and Villanelle stays put outside. She doesn't need to see what's going to happen next. Doesn't <em>want</em> to see either.</p><p>She makes herself comfortable in a fast food place across the street, noisily stuffs her face with burgers and fries, garnering some odd looks, and keeps vigil. Hours pass before the woman makes another appearance.</p><p>This time they get on the subway together. Villanelle occupies a different car of course.</p><p>Thankfully this ride is much shorter than the bus and soon they're taking to the streets again.</p><p>Following from as far away as she dares, they continue on into suburbia. The woman retrieves a key from her purse and enters what is presumably her home. Certainly the last place Villanelle would've expected. It looks like the sort of area soccer moms live. At least there wasn't a van in the driveway too.</p><p>She's expecting a light to come on momentarily so she can get a peek inside, unlike the hotel. But once more she's denied. The woman is either part bat or she has blackout curtains installed.</p><p>Blanketed by full nightfall, and frustrated with her lack of progress, she approaches the back door. As soon as she gets within ten feet, motion sensor lights pop on, blindingly so.</p><p>She scurries off behind a hedge before any neighbours take note of her presence. It's impossible to tell if the woman herself has been made the wiser.</p><p>Villanelle has half a mind to just barge in there right now and demand answers.</p><p>Barely, she controls this foolish impulse and heads to the local park, to sleep on the bench like a bum, using her purse as a pillow. There was nothing she could safely do until morning.</p><p>Up at the crack of dawn because the damn birds wouldn't shut the fuck up, she goes back to the house, gets out her binoculars, and waits. And waits. And finally, the woman exits her home, seemingly off to work. A bit odd on a Saturday, but not unheard of.</p><p>Ironically, in the daylight she appears much more like a moth. Near the end of its life. Her business casual clothes are frumpy and drab, her hair is messily done up. There's at least one coffee stain on her shirt. After she gets in the old silver Volkswagen Golf, she raises her arm and sniffs her pit, makes a face at the smell, then shrugs, and puts the car into gear.</p><p>It's hard to believe this is the same majestic woman from last night.</p><p>Whatever, it was time to find out who the fuck she was.</p><p>Breaking in is surprisingly easy. She's in within ten seconds flat. After all of the privacy measures in place, she was expecting a bit more of a challenge.</p><p>In any case, she takes a few seconds to survey the kitchen and living room, to just appreciate her hard won delights. Except there aren't any. This place is sparsely decorated, almost sterile, and there's nothing remotely interesting about it. It almost looks like it's brand new, on the market, waiting to be sold. Either the woman couldn't be bothered to decorate, to make it cozy, or she was in the process of moving, all of her knicknacks and things stashed away in boxes somewhere. The first option seemed the most likely considering the lack of for sale sign out front.</p><p>Undeterred, Villanelle starts snooping in earnest. She checks everywhere, every place she can think to look, and she finds nothing. Nothing of value anyway. Sure there were some photographic volumes depicting various stages of her life, hilarious and awkward teen ones winning all the awards. And sure, there was a bizarre piece of artwork in the bedroom, that made her think of pork for some reason. And sure, there was a baggie full of zip ties at the bottom of her uninspired underwear drawer. And sure, there was a well worn human anatomy book with suspicious stains on some of the pages stashed in the attic.</p><p>But none of that told her what the woman's <em>name</em> was.</p><p>There's no mail. No birthday cards. No nothing to help her out.</p><p>“Who the fuck <em>are</em> you?!” she mutters to herself in frustration.</p><p>At her wits end, she nearly storms out. Just as she's about to turn the doorknob, she looks back over her shoulder, at the framed photograph sitting on a small table in the hallway. There's something she's overlooked. And she knows it has something to do with that. It was literally the only personal item on display to visitors.</p><p>
  <em>One of these things is not like the other.</em>
</p><p>She picks up the wedding photo. Stares at it. Ponders. She can't recall if the woman had been wearing a ring when she left for work. She thinks not. Or maybe she <em>hopes</em> not.</p><p>No man <em>lived</em> here, that was for certain.</p><p>Villanelle flips it around and notes the fact that the latch is slightly askew, and that there are barely discernible imprints in the cardboard from various other times it was moved and not set exactly back into the same groove.</p><p>Spidey senses tingling, she slides the latch aside and pops out the backing. Flattened in-between the cardboard and the photo...is a lock of hair. It's short and somewhat coarse and reminds her of a small furry animal.</p><p>Or perhaps a mustache.</p><p>A normal person would have been revolted at this morbid discovery. Villanelle is far from normal. She smiles, proud of herself for further confirming her suspicions. That this woman was a killer. Like her.</p><p>She pockets the mustache, then puts the photograph back in place, and leaves.</p><p>Having slept poorly on the bench, she attempts to get some shut eye back in her own hotel room.</p><p>After all of the recent excitement, it's difficult to shut her brain off. Eventually though she succeeds.</p><p>A couple of hours later she wakes up, somewhat refreshed. Then she showers and changes into clean clothes, specifically her panties and a blue satin robe. Shamelessly, she goes downstairs so attired to have a late complimentary breakfast of cold eggs and sausages, steals extras in case Konstantin stops by.</p><p>Her mind strays back to the mustache, to her one physical connection to the woman. She retrieves it, drops onto a comfortable hardback chair and contemplates it some more, twirling it like a leaf.</p><p>She's only ever kissed a man with a similar mustache once in her life, and didn't much care for the experience. She wonders why anyone would willingly marry into that, be chained to it for the rest of their life. It would be like kissing fuzzy fudge. Hardly appetizing.</p><p>She's deep in thought when suddenly she feels the cold bite of steel against her throat.</p><p>“That doesn't belong to you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“One could argue that it doesn't belong to you either.”</p><p>Nevertheless she hands the mustache to the murderous woman behind her, and just like the concierge, makes sure her fingers brush against her skin.</p><p>“Who are you?” demands the woman in quiet, harsh, American tones.</p><p>Not only is there a blade to her throat, but now there's a hand on the side of her face, pulling it off on an angle, simultaneously exposing her neck further and keeping her in place. It's been a long time since anyone's touched her face like that...and it's nice.</p><p>The chair is such that her head pokes over the top of the back, which coincidentally means it's ever so slightly resting on the woman's chest. Also nice.</p><p>The woman doesn't smell of desperation. She just smells. Not so nice.</p><p>“Who are <em>you</em>? I mean, I know you <em>seem</em> to be your boring, average, run of the mill office worker, but you're clearly far more than that, lacklustre interior design notwithstanding.”</p><p>Villanelle swears she can hear the woman's teeth grinding.</p><p>“I should kill you right now.”</p><p>“And yet...you still haven't. Why is that, do you think?”</p><p>The woman doesn't say anything for a time and then, “You're not afraid?”</p><p>“Of dying? Been there, done that.”</p><p>She's not being silly, she literally <em>had</em> died once when her traitorous mentor tried to kill her. And all over a simple misunderstanding. She had only been <em>joking</em> when she repeatedly insulted the newly acquired ugly ass dog with the snaggletooth and the rancid farts.*</p><p>“Tell me who you are,” says the woman after a faint exhale of annoyance. “Why you've been following me.”</p><p>“Where's the fun in that? Let's play twenty questions instead.”</p><p>“I'm going to slit your throat right now if you don't answer me,” warns the woman in a pissy, constipated manner.</p><p>“Always so serious. Do you even know how to laugh?”</p><p>The woman's weight shifts slightly, the hand on her face gets rougher. “That's it-”</p><p>“My name is Villanelle.”</p><p>“What kind of name is that?” snaps the woman. “I want your <em>real</em> name. Not your alias.”</p><p>“That's privileged information. You haven't earned the right yet.”</p><p>“I earned the right the moment you broke into my home. Tell me who you are and who you work for or-”</p><p>“My boss is going to be stopping by soon. You might want to put that away before he catches us in a...<em>compromising</em> position.”</p><p>She says the last part flirtatiously.</p><p>A moments hesitation followed by, “You're bluffing. No one is coming.”</p><p>“Are you willing to risk your cozy little lie on that hunch? Trust me, my boss won't be too pleased to find you standing over my bloody corpse. He's like family.”</p><p>“Somehow I doubt that. I bet you don't even have any <em>friends</em>,” says the woman meanly. “Hardly surprising. You're insufferable.”</p><p>“Ouch, that stings,” she says, meaning it literally. The pressure of the blade had increased somewhat since she refused to cooperate. “Well? Are you going to do it or not? I have to use the bathroom. I have quite a heavy period and need to change out my tampon. It would be embarrassing to die of toxoplasmosis.”</p><p>“It's toxic shock syndrome.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>The woman huffs. “The other one has to do with cats and bad meat.”</p><p>“No, I'm pretty sure I'm right.”</p><p>The blade cuts in even deeper and she's pretty sure she's pushed her luck just about as far as she can. She's about to attempt a rather risky maneuver to get out of the pickle she's in, when the beep of the door conveniently sounds.</p><p>Villanelle sees a flurry of silent movement out of the corner of her eye, that of the woman retreating into the bathroom.</p><p>Konstantin comes in, rudely, wordlessly. Observes her for a moment.</p><p>“You have blood there,” he says, tapping his own neck.</p><p>“Cut myself shaving,” she responds cheekily, wiping it away casually.</p><p>Just like the mystery woman, there's not even a hint of amusement. He eyes her suspiciously. She knows she needs to tread lightly.</p><p>“Why are you still here, Villanelle?”</p><p>She was supposed to have caught a flight first thing this morning. It was never a good idea to linger in places one had committed a major crime. Especially when someone <em>else</em> had committed it <em>for</em> you.</p><p>“I had a late night,” she answers truthfully. “Overslept.”</p><p>Once more he gives her a dubious look, a frequent occurrence between them. For some strange reason he rarely took her word at face value.</p><p>“How did it go?”</p><p>“We had a grand old time.”</p><p>And be 'we', she meant her and the other woman.</p><p>“Not really your style though. Messy. In more ways than one.”</p><p>She has no idea what he means by that but her imagination is going into overdrive, and the excitement of the novel situation, of the woman just out of sight, reignites with a passion. It's with considerable effort that she keeps herself from looking towards the bathroom, or hurrying up this conversation.</p><p>“What can I say?” she says with a shrug. “I felt like mixing things up.” She gets off the chair, pats him on the cheek. “Is that a crime?”</p><p>Villanelle heads to the mini-fridge, pulls out a tiny bottle of vodka, Konstantin's favourite. Normally she would drink champagne in celebration of another successful hit, but all of her <em>Dom Perignon</em> was back in Paris. This would have to do.</p><p>As expected, Konstantin is not finished with his interrogation. “What happened to the sushi place? Why did you change the plan?”</p><p>She cracks the vodka open and takes a healthy swig, doesn't even wince.</p><p>“Turns out Kedrin got a little frisky,” she says with a wink. “I had to improvise.”</p><p>She holds out the bottle to him, graciously offers him some.</p><p>Rudely, he completely ignores this hospitable gesture. Not for the first time, she wonders why she likes him. He could never even be bothered to watch a single movie with her. She bet he watched movies with his <em>daughter</em> all the time. The unconscious part of her brain knows it has to do with the resemblance to her own beloved father, long since out of her life.</p><p>“That was not wise. You should not have gone in there.”</p><p>“Well, what else was I <em>supposed</em> to do? He was going back to Russia today. It was my last shot.”</p><p>“Only because <em>you</em> will not go back there.”</p><p>“Whatever, it's done,” she says flippantly. “That's all that matters to them.”</p><p>Konstantin looks like he very much wants to backhand her insolence.</p><p>Instead, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out another postcard. “They want you to do another job. Tomorrow.”</p><p>“Really ramping up the murder lately. Big plans?”</p><p>Without comment he hands her the card. Tuscany.</p><p>She takes another shot of vodka, then puts it aside, casually examines the card. 'Miss you,' was all it said. Wow, whoever put these things together was getting lazier and lazier.</p><p>“I hear it's lovely there this time of year,” she says. “What do you think? Shorts or dress?” Konstantin is staring at her funny, and she's pretty sure it's <em>not</em> because there's more blood on her neck. “What?”</p><p>“You keep looking towards the bathroom.”</p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>“I was just about to change my tampon when you barged in,” she says, hoping the 'grossness' of the statement will stop him from checking. There's literally nowhere to hide in there. “It's filled up with quite a lot of blood and I'm afraid I'm going to start leaving a mess all over the place if I don't change it soon.” She looks to the pristine white carpet. “Or would you rather I add miscellaneous cleaning expenses to the account?”</p><p>Konstantin doesn't look like he bought it, but he also doesn't check. Maybe he's simply not in the mood to deal with her shit? Either way, it's a win as far as she's concerned.</p><p>He waves a chastising finger in her face, and very briefly she contemplates biting it. “Whatever you're up to, it ends now. No more being naughty.”</p><p>He's about to leave when she says, “Aren't you forgetting something?”</p><p>Without turning around, Konstantin pulls out the cash and unceremoniously drops it on the floor. “You'll get the rest when you get home.”</p><p>And then finally he's gone and it's just the two of them again. Maybe they can have a more civil conversation now?</p><p>The woman next appears with her own silenced CZ 75 in hand.</p><p><em>Apparently not</em>.</p><p>Rather rude in her opinion, all things considered.</p><p>Unconcerned, she scoops up the vodka again, casually sips at it until the entire thing is drained, all the while fake examining the postcard. She can almost feel the frustration and anger radiating off of the woman at being ignored.</p><p>“Oops, silly me,” says Villanelle, turning and blinking at her as though she's surprised, like she forgot she was still here. “Didn't see you there.” She hooks a thumb back towards the mini-fridge. “Did you want some? I'd say you've more than earned the four pound charge.”</p><p>Villanelle makes direct and intense eye contact for the first time and it's like time stands still. She's completely entranced by the hypnotic power they exude. Shivers - of the same variety that ghosts cause - erupt everywhere. Caught off guard, she nevertheless pulls herself together.</p><p>“What exactly <em>did</em> you do,...?”</p><p>She leaves it hanging, hoping ingrained manners will kick in and that the woman will automatically fill in the blanks, give her a name.</p><p>“You're an assassin?” wonders the woman aloud. She doesn't sound impressed exactly, more intrigued.</p><p>“An <em>international</em> assassin,” she corrects, putting the empty bottle and postcard on the bed. “I'm kind of a big deal in the industry.” She looks towards the cash. “<em>Very</em> expensive.”</p><p>Judging by the size of the stack, and the fact that it's all purple, there's fifty thousand euros there, or about half of their agreed upon price.</p><p>“I've never heard of you.”</p><p>She gives the woman a pointed look. “That makes two of us.”</p><p>Villanelle considers giving her all manner of annoying names until she breaks and tells her what she wants to know. Of course this strategy might horribly backfire and she'll just be shot instead. So far all she knows about the woman is that her temperament is neither angelic nor demonic, but that it fell closer to the latter side of the spectrum.</p><p>“Why didn't you rat me out?”</p><p>“Why should I have?”</p><p>“I was about to kill you,” says the woman exasperatedly.</p><p>“No, you weren't,” she smirks. “You like me too much.”</p><p>“I don't like <em>anything</em> about you,” glowers the woman.</p><p>“Nothing at all?” she asks suggestively, glancing down to her cleavage.</p><p>The woman laughs humourlessly. “Is this you coming onto me? Pathetic.”</p><p>She notes a bit of brown poking out of the woman's shirt pocket, nods towards it. “What's the deal with that anyway?”</p><p>“None of your business.”</p><p>“I would have killed him too,” she says without thinking. “Such a ridiculous mustache.”</p><p>The woman raises the gun to head height, instant kill shot. Villanelle doesn't do scared, but she is mildly concerned that she's possibly messed with this woman just a tad too much.</p><p>No one had ever gotten this close to her before. Had the upper hand. Had this effect on her. It was exhilarating. She doesn't want this moment to end.</p><p>“You're really going to just shoot me with my own gun?” she says conversationally.</p><p>“You know too much. I can't let you live.”</p><p>“I'm not going to tell anyone about your little hobby,....?”</p><p>“Like I can trust you,” says the woman with an eye roll. “You're a professional liar.”</p><p>“So are you.” A pause. “What can I do to convince you?”</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>“Well then, if this is my last day to live, will you make it worth my while?”</p><p>She bites her lip sensually for added effect.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>The kill shot gets ever so slightly realigned and then-</p><p>“I'm pregnant!” she blurts out in the last instant, teary eyed.</p><p>Startled, the woman releases the pressure on the trigger. She frowns. “No, you're not.”</p><p>“I am, I swear!” she cries. “I lied about the period...but <em>this</em> is the truth!” Now she really puts on the water works, even falls to her knees for good measure, hands in supplication. “Are you <em>really</em> going to kill a mother and her unborn child in cold blood?”</p><p>For the first time the woman seems to doubt herself. Seemingly she wasn't a total monster. Good, Villanelle can work with that.</p><p>“You're not pregnant,” says the woman, brow furrowing further. She says this like she is trying to convince herself, to justify her actions. “You were drinking vodka.”</p><p>
  <em>Oops, forgot about that little detail.</em>
</p><p>Villanelle shuffles closer on her knees, almost within grabbing distance.</p><p>“Stop right there!” demands the woman, firing a warning shot just off to the side of her head, so close she can feel the bullet passing by.</p><p>Apparently she was a half decent shot, at least at close range.</p><p>“Shoot me in the stomach first.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I don't want her to suffer,” she sobs, a hand to her tummy, continuing to subtly move closer. “My darling little angel. I was going to name her after my dear old grandmother, Tatiana, but now cruel fate has befallen me! She will never get to live on the way she deserves to, after she was tragically killed in the Korean War!”</p><p>The woman is momentarily transfixed, and that's all it takes.</p><p>Villanelle flings herself forward before a fatal shot can be fired, tackles the woman to the carpet. For some increasingly violent moments, they tussle for control, for the gun, and then with a well placed fist, she subdues her assailant enough to pin her to the floor with one hand on her neck, the gun aimed at <em>her</em> head.</p><p>The woman groans, bloody lipped, then stares up at her defiantly, eyes briefly falling to her open robe, tits and all. There's a hint of something else there...something alluringly familiar.</p><p>“Name please.”</p><p>“Fuck you.”</p><p>“That's a strange name.”</p><p>Villanelle doesn't particularly <em>want</em> to kill her. This woman is the most fun she's had in ages. She'd like to continue to play with her for some time.</p><p>“If you behave yourself, I'll let you go.”</p><p>The woman scoffs. “You'd better just kill me then.”</p><p>Recklessly, she tosses the gun onto the bed.</p><p>“What the <em>hell</em> are you doing? Are you crazy?”</p><p>Villanelle tightens the grip on her neck, the woman's eyes roll back into her skull, but she makes a sound like she's enjoying herself.</p><p>When they next make eye contact, she can clearly see the evidence of her arousal. Villanelle lets go of her neck and is rewarded by the woman surging upward, crashing their lips together. The result of which is another scuffle on the carpet, also increasingly violent, also a mad dash for control. Except this time their clothes fall away in the chaos, and she finds herself repeatedly stabbing the woman in a kinky way.</p><p>Afterwards, they don't cuddle, just lay there stinking of sweat and sex.</p><p>“Do you think we could use the bed next time?” she asks, pleasantly sated. It wasn't often that someone could fully quench the implacable hunger bubbling just beneath the surface. In fact, it had only happened once before; the first time she managed to seduce her language professor.</p><p>“There won't <em>be</em> a next time.”</p><p>And before Villanelle can argue with that, there's a blinding pain in her skull, and she knows no more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*I can't actually remember if they ever said why Dasha tried to kill her. And I can't be bothered to rewatch S3 just for that one detail. I don't suppose it would've taken all that much to set her off though, considering she randomly killed her boyfriend for no obvious reason...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When she comes to, she's on the bed, tied up to the headboard with zip ties, the same ones she found in the woman's home. Her skull is throbbing from the monster headbutt. Likely the woman is not fairing much better, judging by the blossoming bruise on her forehead, which perhaps explained her grumpy demeanor. Or maybe she just always looked like that when she hadn't recently killed someone?</p><p>Her robe is back in place, covering up all her fun bits. Her left tit is also throbbing, from when the woman nearly bit it off. Villanelle had almost come right then and there.</p><p>“Why am I still alive?”</p><p>It's a completely reasonable question she thinks, so she doesn't understand why the woman throws her such a nasty look. Her captor is sitting on the same chair this confrontation started with, legs uncrossed but not manspreading, gun resting in her lap. Villanelle is a little surprised to find the woman wearing her spare clothes; black slacks and a plain white flowey blouse. They didn't fully fit her, but they still looked much better than her frumpy office attire, which had probably been ripped in several places during their rough sex romp. Her hair was matted down from water. Apparently the woman had taken a quick shower while she was unconscious. Villanelle thinks she has the hardest head of anyone she's ever been on the wrong side of, and there have been many.</p><p>“You look good by the way,” she adds, which just causes further scowling.</p><p>Ignoring that comment the woman says, “I'm trying to figure out the best way to make you disappear. I could do the same thing I did to my husband, minus a few details.”</p><p>“Which was?”</p><p>“Paralyzed him with saxitoxin, suffocated him in his sleep. Then I chopped him up, boiled him down, put him in a blender, took him to work in a flask and flushed him down a restaurant toilet.”</p><p>So far the woman had been hesitant to give up much in that regard, so Villanelle's a little taken aback by all of the specifics, ingenious as they may be. She thinks probably it's meant as an intimidation tactic, which of course fails. More than anything, she gets a little turned on by the dark look and low tones.</p><p>“Sounds unnecessarily complicated. You should just do whatever you did to Kedrin. Much faster. Why <em>did</em> you kill him anyway?”</p><p>“You read his file,” says the woman incredulously. “He was a piece of shit.”</p><p>File? Sounded like she had access to things most civilians didn't have access to. Assuming she's right about the office work - a supposition based exclusively on the vast selection of boring clothes in her closet - it was not of the usual variety. Which perhaps explained why the woman was able to tail her for so long without her taking notice.</p><p>“So you only kill arseholes?”</p><p>“I kill people who deserve it.”</p><p>“So do I.”</p><p>She doesn't actually know if that's true but her captor doesn't need to know that.</p><p>“We're not so different you and I,” she continues. “I'm just smarter.”</p><p>Once again, the woman looks at her like she's crazy. “You're literally tied up and at the whim of a serial killer.”</p><p>Huh, interesting. She didn't like being called the P-word and would never refer to herself that way.</p><p>Villanelle tries to shrug, doesn't quite manage with the way her arms are propped above her head. “I get paid for my efforts. What do you make at that dreary day time job? Ten pounds an hour? I just made fifty thousand euros for one nights effort.” She eyes the woman. “By rights, it's yours.”</p><p>“Bribery isn't going to get you out of this. Besides, I already took it.”</p><p>Villanelle glances to the floor near the door, and sure enough the stack of cash is gone.</p><p>“No matter how you get rid of me, people will come looking.”</p><p>It's not said in desperation but rather stating facts. She was their golden girl, got all of the high priority and/or difficult jobs. They wouldn't take kindly to her disappearing and having to find an adequate replacement on short notice.</p><p>“They won't find anything though,” says the woman with chilling conviction.</p><p>“Are you sure about that? My people are quite...connected.”</p><p>“Who are your people? FSB?”</p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes at the stereotypical conclusion. Technically she didn't know who she worked for, so technically this <em>could</em> be the case, but she hopes not since that would be rather lame. At least the woman didn't say KGB, which further confirmed that she had some knowledge of the intelligence world.</p><p>The woman observes her for awhile and her continued silence. She chuckles lightly. “You don't know, do you?” Smirking, “So much for being smarter.”</p><p>“I <em>am</em> smarter,” she glowers, sticking out her tongue.</p><p>“Only a fool would work for the unseen hand.”</p><p>Villanelle takes great pride in her job and doesn't much appreciate the belittling.</p><p>“At least what I do <em>matters</em>,” she fires back. “No one gives a <em>shit</em> about what <em>you</em> do.”</p><p>“The families of my victims would tend to disagree.”</p><p>“Do you sleep with <em>all</em> your victims?”</p><p>“What?” frowns the woman. “No,” she says in a small offended voice. “Never. You're the first.” She strokes the gun. “And the last.”</p><p>“How long have you been doing this?” she asks curiously.</p><p>“Probably since before you were born,” says the woman proudly.</p><p>Villanelle finds this pronouncement hot. If she's telling the truth, she's been murdering and getting away with it for over twenty years. A true role model. And much sexier than Dasha.</p><p>Villanelle prods for more personal details. “How did you get like this? <em>I</em> had a shitty mother and childhood and-”</p><p>“You're also a psychopath. You haven't flinched once since this all started.”</p><p>“If I am, so are you,” she says, aggravated by the term, but trying not to let it show.</p><p>“Yes, I am,” says the woman, faintly amused at hitting yet another nerve. “Which is why you should've figured out by now that you aren't going to talk your way out of this.”</p><p>“Then just kill me already and be done with it,” she groans. “These restraints are <em>very</em> uncomfortable.”</p><p>When the woman doesn't respond, she clues into something and perks up. “You're completely out of your element, aren't you? This isn't the sort of thing you normally do, is it?”</p><p>And then out of the blue the woman slumps forward, as if she were very weary. Villanelle wonders if the woman slept at all last night or if she had been bidding her time waiting for her adversary to make a move.</p><p>Once more she's surprised when the woman opens up to her.</p><p>“I've been feeling off lately. Like something's missing. The last time I felt like this, I got married. Big mistake.”</p><p>“What do you think is missing?”</p><p>“I don't know....I just...” she rubs her face in frustration. “It's always the same thing. I go into work, pretend to be normal, maybe go out for a drink with my colleagues, come home, get dressed, go out again, kill someone I've been watching for awhile, dispose of the evidence. Rinse and repeat.”</p><p>It was both odd and intriguing carrying on a 'normal' conversation like this. She hardly ever did it, at least in a genuine capacity.</p><p>“Wow, you must be exhausted. When do you sleep?”</p><p>“I don't,” sighs the woman.</p><p>“No wonder you've been feeling off. It's important to get a good night's rest. I always make sure to get at least eight hours before I work.”</p><p>“Is that your way of trying to get me to let you go again?” says the woman, shaking her head, the merest hint of a smile ghosting her lips.</p><p>Villanelle feels the beginnings of her own smile taking hold...and then they are rudely interrupted.</p><p><em>For fucks sake</em>.</p><p>Someone was knocking at the door and it certainly wasn't Konstantin. Nor did it seem to be housekeeping, given how they weren't announcing their presence before entering.</p><p>Understandably the woman becomes wary. All Villanelle would have to do is start screaming her head off and whoever was on the other side of the door would go running and get the authorities involved. Game over.</p><p>The woman gives her one sharp look, then goes to deal with the disturbance. She peeks through the eye hole, opens up a smidge, and sneakily places the muzzle of the gun against the door, right at head height.</p><p>Villanelle can't see the woman's expression, but she assumes it's a far more pleasant one than has ever been directed her way.</p><p>“Hello!” says the woman brightly. “What seems to be the problem?”</p><p>“Terribly sorry to bother you, ma'am,” says a man with a sexy deep voice, “but there's been a couple of noise complaints. I just need to make sure that everything is okay and then I'll get out of your hair.”</p><p>“Everything is perfectly fine!” reassures the woman in a manner befitting the Stepford Wives.</p><p>She goes to close the door but the man sticks his foot in the crack.</p><p>“I'm sure it is,” responds the security guard, “but I still need to visually verify that. It's hotel policy to look into any and all...<em>disturbances</em>. We pride ourselves in being one of the safest hotels in the country.”</p><p><em>Really stellar reaction time</em>.</p><p>“You want to come in?” says the woman, grip tightening on the gun. “Is that really necessary?”</p><p>“I'm afraid so, ma'am,” says the guard, and this time it's not quite as friendly as it once was. “It will only take a moment.”</p><p>Before the tense altercation can turn bloody, Villanelle pipes up cheerily.</p><p>“Oh, let the nice man in, mozzie!” she calls in an Australian accent. “He's just doing his job. There's no need to be embarrassed. We're all adults here.”</p><p>The woman shoots her another nasty look, then lets the guard in. His hand was on his holster - which housed a stun gun - and continues to be when he sees her tied up on the bed, with her own matching bruise. He looks to the woman - who has stashed the gun behind her back, and is now putting on her most subservient look - then focuses on Villanelle again.</p><p>“Are you all right, miss?”</p><p>“More than all right, mate,” she says, with a gregarious wink. “Me and the missus were just having a little fun down under...if you take my meaning.”</p><p>“You're married?” says the guard skeptically, noting the singular suitcase in the corner. “Only one person was registered for this room. A Rosella Walker.”</p><p>“That would be me,” she says. “My wife here, Fanny, decided to surprise me with a little going away present. I'm due to return to the motherland soon and won't be back for a few months. She just couldn't <em>bear</em> the thought of not seeing me one last time...and here we are.”</p><p>“I see,” says the guard. “And what about those?” he says gesturing to the bruises on both of them.</p><p>“Ah well, sometimes we get a bit carried away. My wife absolutely <em>adores</em> role playing cops and robbers.”</p><p>The security guard eyes them back and forth for several long moments and then takes his hand away from the stun gun and smiles. “Well in that case, I'll be on my way. Carry on.” He wags a finger at them, the same way Konstantin did. “Within reason. Otherwise I'll have to pay you another visit.”</p><p>“We'll try our best, but I make no promises. You're not the <em>first</em> person to think she was committing bloody murder in the bedroom.”</p><p>The guard laughs, then leaves, reassured.</p><p><em>Idiot</em>.</p><p>The woman stares at her for an extended beat, a prominent vein bulging in her Rhino hard forehead, visible even beyond the bruise. “Mozzie?”</p><p>“Mosquito.”</p><p>The woman rolls her eyes, then just kind of stands there, gun hanging limply by her side, like she can't figure out what her next move is. Frankly, if she <em>still</em> didn't think they were on the same side, and that Villanelle meant her no (immediate) harm, then nothing would convince her, and another corpse was going to be found in a London hotel room soon.</p><p>“You don't have to kill me you know. We can work something else out.”</p><p>“No, we can't.”</p><p>“But you wish we could, don't you? Or I'd have been dead hours ago.” When there's no denial, she tosses out, “Come with me.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Come with me to Tuscany. I think you could do with a change of scenery. London's always so drab. No wonder you have to kill people just to get through the day.”</p><p>Having someone to play with is exactly what <em>she's</em> been missing. She's almost giddy at the prospect.</p><p>“I don't think your boss would appreciate that too much,” says the woman doubtfully, though clearly not entirely opposed.</p><p>“Actually, he's always trying to get me to work well with others. I think he'd be thrilled.”</p><p>Imagining Konstantin's face when he finds out nearly makes her laugh.</p><p>“It's a terrible idea.”</p><p>“Suit yourself,” she says, trying to shrug again, this time wincing from the burn.</p><p>The woman studies her for a long time, then swaps the gun for the knife, which had been resting on the side table, and completely overlooked by the guard.</p><p>Villanelle's not afraid of dying, but she doesn't particularly <em>want</em> to either. Her life was pretty fantastic these days.</p><p>Her captor drags the blade lightly along her leg, tickling, all the way up her robe, and stops just under her chin, practically back to where they started. She looks Villanelle straight in the eyes, as if trying to ascertain the truthfulness behind her words, and once more Villanelle's sucked into their depths like an irresistible vortex, an unstoppable force of nature.</p><p>Swiftly the woman pulls the edge away....and cuts her restraints.</p><p>Tingling arms flop lifelessly down to her sides.</p><p>The woman stands a little ways back, poised as if ready for another fight. Her next words belie this wariness though. “Should I pack shorts or a dress?”</p><p>“Was that a joke...?”</p><p>And this time she finally gives it up. “Eve.”</p><p>“So you <em>do</em> have a sense of humour.” She rubs at her arms to speed the circulation along, and then hops out of the bed, putting Eve on high alert again.</p><p>Oh, it was going to be so much fun to play with her.</p><p>“Come along then, Eve. We need to take you shopping.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And so ends 'the woman' saga. Thank fuck. The amount of times I wrote her name...:P</p><p>I'm well aware that this is very Dexter-esque. Don't @ me. XD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Out of all the ways today could have gone, Eve never would have imagined clothes shopping with an international assassin to be one of them.</p><p>While she hadn't doubted her plan for a minute, she had still prepared for the minuscule possibility of being questioned about her whereabouts the previous night. Hence making sure she had an alibi in the form of that obnoxious and inadequate businessman.</p><p>It wasn't until the bus that she was positive she was being followed. By a pro.</p><p>She contemplated dealing with her right then and there, but the businessman would've complicated matters still further. Besides which, killing in the open was never her modus operandi. Too many things could go wrong in a spur of the moment, hasty decision. In her early American days, impetuousness had nearly been her downfall.</p><p>Something this Villanelle had yet to learn.</p><p>Eve had thought about leading her on a wild goose chase, around and around until she finally gave up. She had also thought about taking her to her storage unit, putting a couple rounds in her skull, and then dismembering her with the tools at hand.</p><p>In the end she went back home, sat in the dark, and waited.</p><p>For all she knew this woman had already contacted someone about what she had discovered, and the damage was done. In that case, figuring out <em>who</em> she was dealing with – definitely not the cops - was the next best thing.</p><p>When nothing happened for a few hours, she went in search of the woman, and fairly easily located her in the park. Somehow asleep despite the situation. Or <em>appeared</em> to be anyway.</p><p>Apparently they were waiting until morning for round two.</p><p>In the meantime, she cleared out anything she could think of that would allow for easy identification. Sure, the house was registered, but it was still in her deceased husbands name. A name she no longer shared. If anyone were to look into this matter, it would take some time to locate her maiden name, place of work, etc.</p><p>Of course all of this precaution was probably a moot point. If the woman was at the hotel at the same time as her, surely they already knew who she was?</p><p>Once first light hit, she waited an hour, then put on her work clothes and left.</p><p>She drove around the block, parked at the end of the street, and watched her house through her rear view mirror. About half an hour later, the woman boldly exited through the front door, clearly not afraid of being discovered breaking and entering in broad daylight.</p><p>It was a simple enough matter to follow Villanelle back to her hotel. The woman was either terrible at telling when she was being tailed - in a car or otherwise - or she simply wasn't on guard because she didn't think she <em>had</em> to be. Eve now thinks it must be the latter option. One couldn't be a successful hitwoman for over two years and not have this basic skill mastered.</p><p>After Villanelle left to get breakfast, Eve gained access to her room and did her own snooping. There wasn't much to go on. The woman clearly had expensive tastes in clothing and perfume, and seemingly knew how to handle herself with both blade and gun, but other than that, there was nothing besides a locked laptop, a plane ticket to Paris, and a passport and credit card that didn't match.</p><p>Still none the wiser as to her adversary's true identity, or the organization she worked for, Eve had bid her time in the bathroom, waiting until the opportune moment to strike.</p><p>And now here they were in Paris, in a store she couldn't pronounce the name of, full of clothes she would never in a million years be able to afford. Up until very recently that is. She now had more money in her purse than she had in her back account. If she were going to humour Villanelle in this regard, there was no way in hell she was letting her pay as well. Eve had never been in debt to anyone in her life, and she wasn't about to start now with some insane psychopath she didn't fully understand yet.</p><p>Eve knows next to nothing about fashion, has never cared to learn more than the bare minimum; a necessity to attract and occasionally lure the unwitting man to his death.</p><p>So it is that Villanelle is choosing every piece of clothing for her, more than once knocking the clothes right out of her hands because they were apparently all wrong for her. The employees were obviously annoyed by this repeated action, but put up with it because Villanelle must be a good customer of theirs. They were on a first name basis after all.</p><p>Villanelle was Julie here. Another alias no doubt. Eve's not sure she'll ever know her real name. Which is why she hadn't offered up her own. Eve was the name she went by in her day to day life in London, but it's <em>not</em> the name she was born with. She hadn't used that name in a very long time, not since she lived in America. Not since she had almost been caught and locked up forever.</p><p>“What's with the glasses?” asks Villanelle, while she searches through the last (rather sparse) rack in the store. They had been successful in finding a few outfits for her. But Villanelle wasn't satisfied with that apparently. “They're cute by the way.”</p><p>It was both pleasing and annoying every time Villanelle complimented her, which was increasingly often.</p><p>“I need them to see,” she replies with an eye roll.</p><p>“No, you don't,” says Villanelle. “You don't wear contacts.”</p><p>When she doesn't respond, Villanelle smirks ever so slightly. “Oh, I get it. It's part of your cover identity. Like Clark Kent.”</p><p>Eve rolls her eyes again. “I'm nothing like Superman.”</p><p>“Sure you are. You even bumble around like a moron.”</p><p>While it was true that she pretended to be a total clutz who was always putting her foot in her mouth when she was being 'normal', she still didn't like the comparison, or how easily Villanelle picked up on what she was doing.</p><p>“I'm not like Superman,” she reiterates. “He's the poster child for boring heterosexuals. I'm much more like his cousin, who clearly has a thing for the ladies.”</p><p>“Another joke, Eve? I'm impressed. At this rate you'll even learn how to smile by the end of the day.”</p><p>Despite the sexist nature of the comment, she feels the corners of her lips twitching and has to glance away to stop herself from smiling.</p><p>“Do you have any other friends? Real ones I mean. Someone else who knows who you really are.”</p><p>“We're not friends.”</p><p>Barely missing a beat, Villanelle replies, “You're right. We're lovers.”</p><p>“Would you shut up about that? I only did that so I could-”</p><p>“Tie me up on the bed?” Villanelle reaches over and squeezes her bicep. “You're stronger than you look. Must be from dragging all those bodies around.”</p><p>Eve is getting seriously pissed off at her cavalier attitude and her frequent delight in bringing up things not suitable for public consumption. She's spent decades honing her goodie two shoes alter ego, and she'll be damned if Villanelle screws it all up in a single day.</p><p>“Come on, admit it. A tiny part of you wanted to. It wasn't just a distraction technique. Low blow by the way.”</p><p>She was completely right of course but Eve was sure as hell <em>not</em> going to admit it.</p><p>“I'd say it was a high blow actually,” she responds cheekily, further deflecting.</p><p>The concealer they were both wearing was covering up the worst of the bruising but it was still noticeable if you were paying attention.</p><p>Villanelle looks down to her crotch. “Definitely low blow.”</p><p>Eve shoves her arm. “You're the worst.”</p><p>“How many people have you killed again?” says Villanelle, eyes sparkling mischievously, clearly trying to get a bigger reaction out of her.</p><p>Eve's going to combust any moment now. Patience had never been a virtue of hers and it was only through extreme will that she controlled her impulses most of the time. As much as she wants to let it go, she simply can't.</p><p>She grabs Villanelle by the arm and drags her into the changing room. Considering how swanky the store is, the room is laughably small, which meant there was barely enough space for the both of them.</p><p>Eve would be lying if she said she wasn't affected at all by their current proximity, or that damn enticing perfume that Villanelle seems to have sprayed on extra thick since they arrived in Paris.</p><p>Villanelle decides to carry on as if nothing is amiss. “<em>I've</em> killed about sixty-one at this point.”</p><p>Eve figures if she lets her get it out of her system now, it's less likely she'll do it at an even more inappropriate time, like when some cops are walking by.</p><p>“About? You don't know?”</p><p>“Why, do you keep track of all <em>your</em> kills?” says Villanelle, quirking a brow.</p><p>“I remember every one of them,” she says frankly.</p><p>“So, how many?”</p><p>“More than you. Much more.”</p><p>Villanelle gazes at her steadfastly, clearly turned on. Eve ignores this thrillingly predatory look as best she can considering it's literally right in her face.</p><p>“If you've been at this for decades, how come no one's caught on to you?”</p><p>Vaguely, Eve wonders if Villanelle is looking for pointers, to follow in her footsteps and make sure she never gets caught herself. Eve's never had anyone look up to her before for the things she does in the dark...and it's nice to be appreciated.</p><p>“For starters I'm a lot smarter than the police,” she says smugly. “And then there's inherent sexism and misogyny. Most people don't believe women capable of the kinds of things I do. <em>We</em> do. The number of female serial killers around the world is practically non-existent.”</p><p><em>Or maybe women are just a lot better at keeping their indiscretions to themselves</em>.</p><p>Villanelle absorbs that for all of three seconds and then it's on to the next topic. “So...how did you get started?” When Eve is less than forthcoming, Villanelle continues, “<em>I</em> was chosen to be part of an elite league of extraordinary-”</p><p>“Gentlemen?” she jokes, recalling that godawful movie from years back.</p><p>“Eve, I'm a <em>woman</em>.” She gazes down to her own tits. “I would've thought that was made abundantly clear this morning.”</p><p>Subtly, Eve clenches her thighs, tries not to think about that altercation. It was equal parts a blur and burned into her retinas forever. She had never felt free to sexually let loose to that much of an extreme in her entire life. It was liberating to say the least, as was talking about her murderous exploits plainly.</p><p>“You could identify differently,” she says.</p><p>Eve doesn't actually give a crap about any of that stuff, it's never had any real bearing on her life, but she liked to stay informed, so she was conscious of what the mainstream public was into these days.</p><p>“Well, I don't. Do you?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Okay then. As I was saying, they scooped me out of obscurity and taught me how to be the best me I could be.”</p><p>“And that included five hundred euro shirts?” she says facetiously.</p><p>“Naturally,” says Villanelle haughtily, as if anything less was beneath her.</p><p>“A wolf in designer clothing,” she says, rolling her eyes. “How poetic.”</p><p>“Speaking of clothing...” Villanelle holds up the most recent thing, a multi-coloured jumpsuit that looked more like a snowsuit than anything else.</p><p>They're so close that Villanelle's hand is now pressing against her tit. Eve does her best to disregard the sudden urge to push the delectable smelling woman against the wall and have her way with her.</p><p>“No way,” she says, crossing her arms, covering herself.</p><p>“Yes way,” insists Villanelle.</p><p>“I'm not wearing that.”</p><p>“Don't be self conscious, Eve. You can pull anything off with the right attitude.”</p><p>That mentality must explain Villanelle's current outfit. A bizarre pink poofy dress. Something you'd expect a little girl to wear for her princess themed birthday party.</p><p>“I'm not self conscious. I just don't like that.”</p><p>“You seemed to like it in your teenage years.”</p><p>Eve grits her teeth. “If you <em>ever</em> break into my house again, I'll kill you.”</p><p>“So you keep saying,” says Villanelle, nonplussed.</p><p>“Trust me, I'm <em>more</em> than capable.” Eve leans in, makes as if to kiss her. Villanelle's eyes dart down to her lips. “If you like it so much, <em>you</em> try it on.”</p><p>Then she abruptly leaves, goes outside for a smoke. Paris was supposed to be nicer than London, but the storm clouds followed her here and it's pouring outside. Thankfully there's an overhang at the store front so she's able to light her cigarette in peace. Even gets a few good pulls on it to calm herself down before the door chimes open.</p><p>“I didn't taste cigarettes on your tongue.”</p><p>“Would you leave me alone for two fucking seconds??” she snaps.</p><p>“You shouldn't wander off on your own, Eve. You don't speak the language.”</p><p>“Like I was going to go out into <em>that,”</em> she snarks, gesturing to the deluge.</p><p>Silently, Villanelle observes her, and that in and of itself nearly has Eve attacking her. She's never had a throw down in the pouring rain before, but, as her colleague Elena was often reiterating, it was always good to try new things.</p><p>“When's the last time you ate?”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?!”</p><p>“I think you're hangry.”</p><p>“I am <em>not</em> hangry!” she shouts, voice swallowed up by the pounding rain. “You're just incredibly fucking annoying!”</p><p>And then because nothing has been going her way since Villanelle came into her life, her goddamn body betrays her and her stomach rumbles embarrassingly loudly.</p><p>Eve closes her eyes in consternation and then takes a very long drag on her cigarette, purposely avoiding eye contact for as long as possible. No doubt the thorn in her side will have an insufferable smug look.</p><p><em>I sho</em><em>uld have killed you when I had the chance </em>.</p><p>The <em>only</em> reason she was going along with all of this was because of that old adage, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If Villanelle was near at hand it would be a lot more difficult for her to do something behind her back.</p><p>The second Villanelle turns on her, she'll be ready, and she'll put an end to this unlikely partnership once and for all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Villanelle's apartment is chic as shit.</p>
<p>Minus the peeling wallpaper and literal holes.</p>
<p>Like her own home, Villanelle's not big on decorating and only has a handful of random art pieces scattered about, none of which are properly mounted. Save for the pretentious black and white French stills in the vestibule.</p>
<p>Eve couldn't care less about art, but the macabre diorama of taxidermied butterflies in the bell jar on top of the <em>fridge</em> of all places is holding her attention while Villanelle is in the bathroom.</p>
<p>When her 'hostess' next appears, she's in a long striped robe that makes her look like a two legged zebra, or perhaps Beetlejuice. It's hard to tell if she's wearing anything else beneath that, not unlike the hotel. Eve very quickly redirects her gaze back to the butterflies.</p>
<p>“I got that at an estate auction. Some old lady bit the dust unexpectedly so they were selling off her stuff. You wouldn't <em>believe</em> how much it cost me.”</p>
<p>“And did you have anything to do with her death?”</p>
<p>“Now really, Eve, I'm offended you would even think such a dreadful thing.” Barely skipping a beat, she gestures behind herself and adds, “So, this is the bedroom-”</p>
<p>“Yes, I can see that,” says Eve, rolling her eyes.</p>
<p>“-I usually sleep spread out in the middle, but I'm willing to make an exception for you.”</p>
<p>“How gracious.”</p>
<p>“Which side do you want?” asks Villanelle in a feigned casual manner.</p>
<p>“Neither. I'm taking the couch.”</p>
<p>“No, you don't want the couch,” says Villanelle a little too hastily. As if she had ulterior plans in motion. “Trust me. It's not very comfortable.”</p>
<p>“Then why do you have it?”</p>
<p>“Some old lady-”</p>
<p>Eve throws her a sharp stare.</p>
<p>“There's plenty of room on the bed, Eve. I'm not going to try anything. If that's what you're worried about.”</p>
<p>
  <em>But I might.</em>
</p>
<p>“The couch is fine,” she says, taking a seat, and immediately regretting her decision. It was hard as a rock. Eve resists the urge to shift around to get more comfortable.</p>
<p>“Is it really?” says Villanelle, crossing her arms, quirking a brow.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Villanelle shrugs. “Okay then, Eve, have it your way. The spare sheets are in the kitchen. Under the sink.”</p>
<p>“What the hell are they doing <em>there</em>??” she asks, bewildered.</p>
<p>But Villanelle has already turned away and retired to her bedroom for the night.</p>
<p>Unsurprisingly Eve lies awake for a time, pondering over the crazy events of the day. Has she willingly or unwillingly allowed herself to be bound to this woman? What was it about her exactly that she found so appealing? Sure they had many things in common, and sure it was nice to be appreciated, and sure the woman was really good at sex...but why was she allowing herself to become attached when she ultimately knew it could never work? They were too similar. They would become tired of one another. Clash horribly. Then one of them would die. Preferably not herself. But the woman was a trained killer and equally underhanded so anything was possible. It was best not to underestimate her going forward.</p>
<p>She contemplates killing her in her sleep for the second night in a row. Somehow she knows it won't be that easy. She has a funny feeling she's not the only one still awake. Thinking about the other. A fact soon confirmed by the heavy breathing emanating from the bedroom.</p>
<p>The same warmth from the changing room coils low in her belly. Out of necessity, Eve has spent decades building and honing her restraint. She can ignore this call to arms if she wants to, will it away. But she's going to be spending the whole day with Villanelle tomorrow, including a four and a half hour plane ride, and if she doesn't get this out of her system <em>now</em>, she's not sure what might happen <em>then</em>.</p>
<p>And she can't afford to make any costly mistakes. Anymore than she's already made that is. Psychopathic obsession had no parallel in her first hand experience. It had nearly been her ruin time and time again. The fact that Villanelle is still breathing is a bad sign. For <em>herself</em>. It means her carefully crafted control is slipping. It means she's already in danger of falling back into her carefree, reckless ways. It means she's going to get caught if she's not exceedingly vigilant from here on out.</p>
<p>The smart thing to do here would be to get up and simply leave. Go back to her tedious routine and just deal with it like every other normal person. If Villanelle were to reappear, so be it. She had been warned. She knew the consequences.</p>
<p>The thought of going back to her normal life and job is excruciating. The thought of killing Villanelle is less so. However, it shouldn't bother her in the slightest. The only person she had had any regret in killing was her husband. And despite their complete incompatibility on a fundamental level, she had grown vaguely sentimental during their two year marriage. If only because he fed her so well.</p>
<p>A normal woman would have found him charming and sensitive and an all around nice guy. Traits that annoyed her more than anything else. Which is ultimately why she killed him. She couldn't be bothered with the paperwork of a divorce. Besides, she had become suspicious that <em>he</em> had become suspicious of her true nature.</p>
<p>Like she told Villanelle, it was a big mistake. Eve had no intention of ever becoming attached to another person for the rest of her life. No matter how...<em>enticing</em> they might appear at first glance. Ultimately, everyone was the same. Psychopath or not. People used one another...in one way or another. Even if it wasn't their intent. It was just the nature of being human.</p>
<p>With clinical precision, she finishes herself off, very pointedly making sure a certain someone's assets evaporate from her mind's eye beforehand. Then she rolls off the rock and heads to the bathroom to clean up. While she's in the process of doing so, she discovers something incredibly inconvenient.</p>
<p>She's gotten her period. Three days early.</p>
<p>Apparently all that talk in the hotel room prematurely primed her, and now she has no choice but to deal with it. Eve searches through the oddly placed wardrobe here and finds a stash of various outfits, wigs, a switchblade, a box of ammunition, and a gun. All completely out in the open for anyone to find. Eve gets the impression Villanelle doesn't entertain very often.</p>
<p>In any case, she finds what she's looking for lying casually beside the instruments of death. Below the disposable pink razors is a box of tampons, extra absorbent. Eve's periods are never that heavy, especially as she's gotten older, but she's not about to bother going to the corner store to pick up her own, lighter brand.</p>
<p>Once everything is secure down there, she preemptively pops a pain pill. The last thing she needs is to be kept up all night. Again. That's a surefire way to skew her senses still further.</p>
<p>And she needs all the wits she can get.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Despite her best efforts, and general exhaustion, she hadn't been able to sleep very well. Less because of her period, or the excitement of the upcoming day, and more because of her self imposed sleeping arrangements.</p>
<p>Naturally, Villanelle has no compassion for her sleep deprivation and goes on and on about all the places they're going to visit, the stores they're going to shop at, the exquisite food they're going to eat.</p>
<p>By the time they exit the airport taxi and actually board the plane, Eve is close to losing it again. Then they enter first class for the first time in her life, and suddenly she's not so pissed off by the constant racket in her ear.</p>
<p>She tunes it out the best she can and just takes in the luxuriousness of her current surroundings. This part of the plane is nicer than any hotel she's ever stayed in. Including the one for her honeymoon. She can't believe Villanelle gets to travel like this on a routine basis. Whoever was funding her murderous exploits was stunningly loaded.</p>
<p>Eve's never been a material person...but she's starting to see the appeal of working for 'the unseen hand' as she had called it yesterday. And really, when it came down to it, wasn't MI5 likely to be just as morally bankrupt as whoever it was that Villanelle worked for? For all Eve knew, they could be one and the same. In which case, she was just as much a fool as Villanelle, and might as well get some of the perks afforded to her too.</p>
<p>She starts with champagne.</p>
<p>Of course Villanelle orders a glass as well. Irritatingly, she clinks their glasses together and says, “To the start of a beautiful partnership.”</p>
<p>Wordlessly, Eve rolls her eyes, takes a sip. Promptly coughs when the bubbles go down the wrong way.</p>
<p>“Careful now. Don't want you dying on me already.”</p>
<p>There's a soothing hand on her back as she says this, gently patting away her lingering diaphragm spasms. Like she's an infant. If it were anyone else she might think it was done out of love. Of course she knows better, knows it was purely selfish. A way to touch her without Eve being allowed to get mad.</p>
<p>She straightens, shrugs away, and the hand retracts.</p>
<p>Then she lowers her plush and super comfortable seat <em>all the way</em>, puts a complimentary face mask over her eyes, and says, “Don't bother me until we land.”</p>
<p>“Okay, I'll make sure to start the moment we do.”</p>
<p>Once more Eve rolls her eyes, then turns on her side to hide the hint of a smile.</p>
<p>She's fast asleep before they even take off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I used to get scared and anxious when I was a child. Then when I was older I realized those sorts of emotions serve no purpose. Only cloud your judgment.”</p>
<p>“So you just turned them off? Just like that?”</p>
<p>“No. They're still there. They're just muted. Buried deep down.”</p>
<p>“Except for anger. That one is often near the surface, isn't it?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Do you meditate, Eve?”</p>
<p>“Not in the way you're thinking. My work is a form of meditation. Keeps me grounded.”</p>
<p>“And which work are you referring to? Your professional work or your personal?”</p>
<p>“You shouldn't have asked me that question.”</p>
<p>“Are you going to kill me now, Eve?”</p>
<p>“You've left me no choice. You know too much.”</p>
<p>“But I don't meet the standards for your code. You would be killing an innocent person.”</p>
<p>“Exceptions can be made if necessary.”</p>
<p>“I'm sorry to hear that. I thought we had something special here. It will be a shame to lose it.”</p>
<p>“I'll get over it.”</p>
<p>“Will you though? We both know you've been empty inside for a long time. Ever since you lost Rebecca.”</p>
<p>“Don't talk about her,” she snarls.</p>
<p>“But we <em>need</em> to talk about her, Eve. She's the root cause of everything. The catalyst that made you what you are today. How did it make you feel when you visited her in the hospital and you saw her broken, dying body?”</p>
<p>“How do you <em>think</em> it made me feel? I was angry. Furious.”</p>
<p>“So you hunted the men responsible and killed them in cold blood?”</p>
<p>“It's what they deserved.”</p>
<p>“And you had no doubt whatsoever in your mind that maybe you shouldn't do that?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Do you consider yourself to be an avenging angel?”</p>
<p>Eve laughs humourlessly. “You psychoanalyzing types are always bringing religion in where it doesn't belong.”</p>
<p>“One could argue killing <em>is </em>your faith. It's what you believe in. It guides all of your principles and dictates the shape of your entire life. Without it you're lost at sea. Directionless. Killing gives you purpose.”</p>
<p>“You make it sound like a good thing.”</p>
<p>Villanelle but not Villanelle watches her serenely for a time. “It can be. If you find the right partner.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's not until they're checking out the available vehicles for rental that she finds out who they're here to kill. Cesare Greco. An Italian mafia boss. He had a fortified villa many miles from here, complete with security guards...and possibly <em>dogs</em>. And Villanelle intended to just waltz in there and improvise his death.</p>
<p>“Let me get this straight...” she says somewhat incredulously, “you spent a <em>week </em>on surveillance for Kedrin, an <em>unguarded</em> politician...but now you're just going to wing it on the spot for this guy. In the daylight. During a party. How does <em>that</em> make sense?”</p>
<p>“You're right, it doesn't. We should probably just call the whole thing off. Get some gelato instead. I know a great place within walking distance.”</p>
<p>Eve huffs in annoyance, at not being taken seriously.</p>
<p>“Relax, Eve,” says Villanelle. “I've done this sort of thing tons of times. I know what I'm doing. You don't have to worry about me.”</p>
<p>“I'm <em>not</em> worrying about you,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “I'm just trying to see the logic.”</p>
<p>“That's your problem.” Villanelle pokes her in the forehead, hits her bruise. “You think too much.”</p>
<p>“And <em>you</em> don't think <em>enough</em>,” mutters Eve, moving out of further poking range. “There's a million ways this could go wrong. You should take more than a minute to think it through.”</p>
<p>“No time,” responds Villanelle unconcerned. “They want it done today.”</p>
<p>She wants to say, <em>if my employers played with my life like that, I would quit</em>.</p>
<p>Instead she says, “So, how does this impromptu plan involve me?”</p>
<p>“To be honest, I haven't given that any <em>thought</em>.”</p>
<p>Eve waits for Villanelle to stop joking but then she realizes she isn't. “Seriously? You've got <em>nothing</em> for me to do?”</p>
<p>“Nothing comes to mind. I don't think you're capable of scaling the building while wearing that dress, which means you can't accompany me for the kill.”</p>
<p>The dress in question was a form fitting black and white number that hugged her curves in all the right ways and had made her feel sexier than she usually did when she dressed up for her kills.</p>
<p>“Then why am I here?” she says, doing her best to keep her fury in check. She thought she was here to learn something about being an assassin. So far all she's learned is that Villanelle puts the ass in the word.</p>
<p>“I thought that was obvious. To keep me company.”</p>
<p>She had wondered why Villanelle was wearing (admittedly hot) short shorts and a flowey turquoise blouse and <em>she</em> was wearing <em>this</em>. They clashed horribly.</p>
<p>Now she knew.</p>
<p>Simply for Villanelle's enjoyment.</p>
<p>Eve just about grabs Villanelle by the ridiculous bow around her neck and throttles her dead on the spot, witnesses be damned.</p>
<p>“You have got to be fucking with me. I'm not your <em>companion</em>.”</p>
<p>“Tell you what, you can be the getaway driver. On the off chance I need one that is.” So saying, Villanelle runs her hands along the shiny handlebars of a classic looking motorbike. “Can you ride?”</p>
<p>“That's hardly big enough for <em>one</em>. I'm not getting on that with you.”</p>
<p>“So...is that a yes?”</p>
<p>Eve's only response is to grumble some more. Villanelle goes to pay for the rental, comes back with the keys and two helmets. She tosses one to Eve, puts hers on, and then waits for her to follow suit.</p>
<p>Except she flat out refuses.</p>
<p>“Tick, tock, Eve,” says Villanelle tapping her imaginary watch. “We're on kind of a tight schedule. The party finishes in less than two hours.”</p>
<p>“I already told you, I'm <em>not</em> getting on that with you.”</p>
<p>“Suit yourself,” shrugs Villanelle, saddling the bike. “You're going to miss out on some beautiful scenery if you stay here.”</p>
<p>“Who says I'm going to do that?”</p>
<p>Villanelle observes her for a moment, amused. “Wait, don't tell me...you're going to go after him <em>too</em>? You really think you can beat me to the punch <em>again</em>, Eve?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” she says with far more conviction than she has any right to have.</p>
<p>“How much are you willing to bet?” Before she can respond, Villanelle says, “A date.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>Eve thinks she must have a build up of wax in her ears. Villanelle did <em>not</em> just say what she thinks she did, right?</p>
<p>“If I get to him first, you have to go on a proper date with me. Including watching an entire movie of my choosing.”</p>
<p>Well fuck. If Villanelle is bargaining in <em>this</em> manner, it meant her laser point obsession had already taken hold, and Eve was now firmly in her cross-hairs. If Eve had any wits left to her now, she would back the fuck down and get the fuck out of here before her own psychopathic tendencies took hold beyond control. But she doesn't like backing down, least of all to an annoying brat like Villanelle.</p>
<p>“And if <em>I</em> get to him first, you have to give me <em>all</em> of the money, not just <em>half</em>...and <em>never</em> contact me again.”</p>
<p>There's the briefest of hesitation before, “Deal.”</p>
<p>Then Villanelle sticks on her sunglasses and takes off on the bike, leaving Eve in the dust.</p>
<p>Or so she thinks.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Cue a lame tortoise and the hare metaphor xD</p>
<p>So I started rewatching Hannibal...and KE really is the dumbed down, funny version huh? Perfect for a random, silly brain. :P Anyway, that's maybe why that dream convo seems out of place. I threw it in last minute lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She's unfortunately not nearly as fluent in Italian as Villanelle is. Which means she gets lost three times before she manages to locate the correct villa. Asking for directions to a place where at least one murder was going to be committed was probably not the smartest thing. Especially when you looked the way she did.</p><p>Eve hasn't seen a single person of colour since they landed. Apparently the non-tourist areas of rural Italy weren't exactly known for their diversity. Go figure.</p><p>In any case, to make up for her slower start and subsequent missteps, she drives along the surprisingly twisty country roads much faster than she should. No doubt Villanelle was bombing along the whole way. Her adversary's choice of vehicle suddenly makes a lot more sense. The steering and speed of this classic Fiat is less than race worthy, although still almost too much for her to handle. The so-called beautiful scenery is completely overlooked. All of her focus is needed on not crashing.</p><p>Eve partially skids to a stop when she finally reaches her destination.</p><p>She stays there at the crest of a rolling hill, surveys the distant villa. Without binoculars, all she can make out are the vast fields of grapes and other crops. She's going to have to go in completely blind. The last time she did something so reckless was back in America. Improvisation was not her forte. Far from it. There was a very real likelihood this would go terribly wrong.</p><p>She'd prefer being shot to losing though.</p><p>It takes another four minutes just to drive around the expansive property and onto the main dirt driveway. She has yet to come across Villanelle's bike. Which meant she likely ditched it somewhere off the beaten path. Which meant she had to travel a much greater distance on foot. And based on the way Villanelle was dressed, Eve's pretty sure she took the long way around, that she didn't cut through the crops for fear of ruining her recently purchased blouse. At least, she hopes so.</p><p>Eve parks right beside the other guests vehicles, all notably much nicer than her own. She takes a moment to doublecheck her appearance in the mirror, fluff out her hair, freshen up her blood red lipstick. Then she heads towards the iron gate separating her from the not so distant revelry, her trajectory slightly off kilter owing to heels on gravel.</p><p>Very quickly she is spotted, and a nicely dressed armed guard with perfectly coiffed hair intercepts her before she even reaches the gate. He doesn't remove the gun from his holster, but he <em>does</em> look her up and down suspiciously. Like Villanelle, he is fond of using far too much cologne. Eve nearly gags on it even in the open air.</p><p>“Hello!” she says cheerily in her best approximation of a generic British accent. She holds up a bottle of red wine she randomly purchased before she left the rental facility. You could buy it practically anywhere in this country. Like guns in the U.S. “I'm here for the party.”</p><p>“You are very late,” he tells her in heavily accented English. “It is nearly over.”</p><p>“I got lost,” she explains. “I'm not from around here.”</p><p>He gives her a look as if to say, <em>no shit</em>.</p><p>“Better late than never, right?” she jokes.</p><p>The supermodel guard stares at her, unamused.</p><p>“What is your name?”</p><p>“My name?” she parrots back dumbly.</p><p>“There is a guest registry. I need to check it before I can let you in.”</p><p>Fuck. Why hadn't she considered that possibility? Villanelle was making her dumber by the second, something completely unforgivable.</p><p>“I'm not sure my name will be on there.” Eve doesn't do nervous but she is mildly concerned for her imminent well-being. “I was a last minute invite.”</p><p>That was apparently the wrong thing to say, as evidenced by the guard becoming even more...on guard. The guard reaches into his suit jacket...and pulls out his phone, his eyes never leaving hers.</p><p>“What is your name?” he asks once more.</p><p>“Rosella Walker,” she responds, brain latching onto the last alias Villanelle had used in London.</p><p>Not that it will do her any good. There was zero chance that name was going to be registered.</p><p>The second his eyes leave hers, she whacks him over the head with the bottle of wine. It doesn't shatter but it does have the intended effect. The guard drops to the gravel, his perfect hair ruined.</p><p>Naturally the other guard notices his fallen comrade, whips out his gun and shoots her twice squarely in the chest before she can reach the gun at hand.</p><p>Eve plays out the less than ideal scenario in the milliseconds afforded to her.</p><p>Her only conclusion is that she's fucked. Or at the very least, there's almost no chance she's getting inside that damn gate and will be turned away momentarily.</p><p>Same thing in her opinion.</p><p>But then wonder of wonders, she's saved by the bell. Or rather, the alarm.</p><p>Both guards simultaneously react to something in their nearly hidden earpieces, and then take off, through the gate.</p><p>Eve debates what her next step is here. Clearly she's lost their bet. Clearly Villanelle has already gotten to the target, or otherwise caused considerable mayhem. And come to think of it, she's just realized she never even knew what Greco looked like. She had been so focused on besting Villanelle, she had completely overlooked this rather essential detail.</p><p>The next second there's a thump behind her. She whirls around to find none other than Villanelle standing there, smoothing down her lacy sky blue dress. Or more specifically, the dress of the older woman she likely stole it from. Somehow it fits her perfectly too. Eve finds this observation irrationally annoying.</p><p>Apparently she hadn't been joking about the whole scaling the building thing, and had just evaded the guards the same way she initially did. By using the very rusty pipe to rappel upwards. Managing the same stunt in such a long dress was frankly, impressive. However, she would never tell Villanelle that.</p><p>“Howdy, partner!” says Villanelle enthusiastically. She points to the wine bottle. “Is that for celebrating my victory? Or for our date tonight?”</p><p>Villanelle eyes her up and down the same way as the guard did, albeit in a much more appreciative manner. Much more like a wolf about to devour its prey.</p><p>Chills erupt everywhere in an enticing way.</p><p>Eve really doesn't know what to say, so she says nothing.</p><p>“Well, come on then,” says Villanelle, gesturing away from the villa. “We should probably get out of here now. That fat kid sounded the alarm sooner than expected.”</p><p>“What fat kid?”</p><p>“I'll tell you all about it over dinner.”</p><p>When she makes no move to leave, Villanelle takes Eve's hand and tries to lead her in the opposite direction of the Fiat, likely towards that goddamn, too small, motorbike.</p><p>“The car is over there,” says Eve, pulling away, nodding to the other vehicles.</p><p>“Let me guess,” says Villanelle with an eye roll, “it's the ugliest one?”</p><p>“It's not ugly,” defends Eve. “It's a classic.”</p><p>“You just made fifty thousand euros, Eve. Couldn't you have splurged a bit on something nicer?”</p><p>Before she can retort, Villanelle pushes her up against the side of the building, into some dense shrubbery. A finger is on her lips before she can question or complain about their sudden intense proximity.</p><p>Gravel crunches as several pairs of feet pass by...in the direction of said ugly car. Villanelle pressing up against her is not entirely unpleasant, the opposite in fact. And that's a problem considering their less than ideal circumstances.</p><p>They stay like that entirely too long, long after the guards retreat and head back into the buildings and surrounding estate. Eventually she realizes that she's just as much to blame as Villanelle is, caught in a bubble. A world of their own.</p><p>“Okay, they're gone. You can get off me now.”</p><p>Villanelle's still looking at her lips with hooded eyes, mesmerized.</p><p>Eve is intimately aware of the rush killing gives and the after effects, namely, almost overwhelming lust. It's honestly impressive in a way (and slightly disappointing) that Villanelle hasn't <em>actually</em> kissed her yet. Maybe she had more restraint than Eve gave her credit for?</p><p>“<em>Villanelle</em>,” she says sternly.</p><p>When that's still not enough to snap her out of it, Eve slaps her. <em>Hard</em>.</p><p>It's incredibly cathartic.</p><p>“What was<em> that</em> for?!” shouts Villanelle, startling back a bit, hand to face.</p><p>“Shh. Inside voice,” she snarks, putting her own finger to her lips. Then she shoves Villanelle fully away and retrieves the car keys from her purse.</p><p>As she takes the passenger seat, Villanelle makes a show of groaning about the whole 'ordeal'.</p><p>Almost immediately after Eve starts up the car, there's barking, followed by gunfire. The first shots ping off the metal, the second volley shatter the rear window, and the third takes out one of the back tires, effectively rendering it useless on the gravel.</p><p>“There goes your deposit,” says Villanelle, then pushes out the door, staying low.</p><p>With little choice in the matter, Eve follows suit.</p><p>But first she sticks the car in reverse.</p><p>Her expectation is for the Fiat to roll towards the guards, giving them a distraction and possibly some additional cover.</p><p>The car barely moves backwards before it comes to a halt, the terrain too flat, the tire too damaged.</p><p>“No offense, Eve, but you're a <em>terrible</em> getaway driver.”</p><p>Eve glares at her as more bullets whiz passed, and can't even bring herself to get even more mad when Villanelle grabs her hand again and practically drags her into the nearest vineyard.</p><p>Despite the restrictive motion of her dress, Villanelle manages to pull her along at a punishing pace, zigzagging through the rows. Branches and leaves whack her in the face, tearing at her clothes. Already she can feel the seams ripping along her thighs. Very quickly she trips, nearly taking them both down. Villanelle manages to keep them upright long enough for Eve to kick off her damn high heels. Occasionally there's not so distant barking, or gunfire, which unsurprisingly helps to spur her on despite the lack of sufficient footwear. Thankfully they're mostly traversing over well maintained dirt pathways.</p><p>By the time they've evaded their pursuers and made it to the rejected bike, she's doubled over, wheezing like she's just smoked a whole pack of cigarettes.</p><p>“This is why you shouldn't smoke,” preaches Villanelle annoyingly, barely out of breath. “You never know when you might need to make a break for it.”</p><p>She wants to say, “I wouldn't need to 'make a break for it' if we did things <em>my</em> way,” but she's unable to form the words.</p><p>Villanelle thrusts the only helmet into Eve's hands, throws on her leather jacket and backpack, and orders her to get on. This time she doesn't dare disagree.</p><p>They make it about twenty feet before a mafia henchman darts out of the vineyard in front of them, gun leveled directly at Villanelle's head. He smirks in that smug insufferable way only straight white men are capable of, then pulls the trigger.</p><p>Nothing happens though. It clicks empty.</p><p>And Villanelle ploughs right into him without a second thought.</p><p>In a car this might have been fine. On a bike however, they get taken down too.</p><p>Thankfully they hadn't been moving at fast speeds yet so it's a relatively minor fallout.</p><p>Their would be killer gets the worst of it, the bike crushing him. Apparently not fast enough for Villanelle's liking. She pulls her backpack partly round, blindly reaches inside and retrieves a knife. Then without ceremony she slits his throat, that delicious gurgling sound spewing forth as he fruitlessly takes his final breaths.</p><p>She's never lived vicariously through someone else's kills before, and she's a little surprised to note that it has a very similar effect to that of <em>actually</em> killing him herself.</p><p>Doing her best to quell the sudden hot and bothered feeling washing over, she helps Villanelle right the motorbike.</p><p>“Help me move him into the vineyard.”</p><p>“Why?” asks Villanelle.</p><p>“Just do it,” she demands in a very authoritative way she knows will be effective.</p><p>Together they half lift, half drag his roadkill corpse out of sight.</p><p>They continue on the bumpy back roads for several miles, which all but forces Eve to hold on tight. The suspension of this bike was not meant for off road riding. Or two people.</p><p>Finally, Villanelle is satisfied they aren't being followed and veers back onto the main road, back to their hotel, and the 'date' she is dreading.</p><p>Before they get there though, they pull off to the side of the road, to a tourist vista.</p><p>At first Eve thinks she wants to join the other couples here, to watch the sunset together, but Villanelle's only interest seems to lie in the food vendor.</p><p>“You have <em>got</em> to try this schiacciata, Eve. It's to die for.”</p><p>“Almost <em>did</em>,” she quips in a less than friendly manner, still quite pissed off.</p><p>Despite killing hundreds of people, she's never actually been shot at in her life. She only ever went on the hunt after planning every little conceivable detail, anticipating every possible outcome. It was almost impossible she would ever be caught out while actually in the process of killing someone. Leaving a witness, child or otherwise, was unthinkable.</p><p>The fact that her adrenaline is wearing off and her face is started to sting from multiple lacerations, isn't helping matters. Neither is the fact that Villanelle somehow managed to avoid nicking her face, save for one tiny little gash on her chin. The slight silver lining is that her stolen dress <em>does</em> have some tears in it, and <em>is</em> a little dirty from the fall.</p><p>Villanelle ignores her grumpy attitude, goes over and gets a whole plate full of schiacciata. She shoves one in her mouth while offering some to her. Even though she's hungry again, Eve crosses her arms, rejects the offer. Villanelle shrugs and shoves another in her mouth before she's finished chewing the first one. She chews loudly, with her mouth open, or as open as she can manage without food falling out.</p><p>It was a bit surreal to watch such an elegant looking lady act this way.</p><p>Eve walks away, over to the public bathroom, changes out her tampon.</p><p><em>It would be embarrassing to die of toxoplasmosis</em>.</p><p>She huffs out a laugh. Villanelle was funny. Eve would give her that.</p><p>Again, she would never say it to her face.</p><p>When she stands up to exit the stall, she steps in something wet.</p><p>“You have got to be shitting me,” she groans under her breath.</p><p>This was officially the worst day of her life. Well, <em>second</em> worst day.</p><p>She runs cold water over the cuts on her face, wipes away the drying blood. Pulls some twigs out of her hair. In no mood to be appealing, she wipes off the lipstick. Then messily puts her hair back up. She huffs again, this time in disdain, at the state of her nearly two thousand euro outfit. The most expensive one. It was probably beyond repair. Yet another strike against Villanelle.</p><p>She vacates the bathroom to find Villanelle still busy stuffing herself, and redirects course to the railing overlooking the view. Eve keeps as much distance from the other content couples as she can, as if she's afraid of being infected by their cheerful state of mind, and lingers near the edge.</p><p>She leans against the railing and watches the beginnings of the sunset. She can appreciate the beauty of something like this, but it doesn't strike a chord within her. Nothing does except for killing. Even so, the calm and stillness of this peaceful moment is the only thing grounding her right now. Everything has gotten out of control so fast.</p><p>Everything was already ruined.</p><p>The cause of this unrelenting chaos eventually makes its way over, one more schiacciata on offer, as if that would be an acceptable appeasement for upending her life.</p><p>Villanelle holds it out to her. “Last chance.”</p><p>This time Eve takes it and damn if it isn't amazing.</p><p>Villanelle watches her surprised appreciation closely and Eve is too tired and hungry to care about hiding it.</p><p>A couple more bites and it's gone.</p><p>“So where do you want to go for our date? I was thinking the-”</p><p>Instantly her mind goes back to all of the bullshit. “I'm not doing that.”</p><p>“We had an agreement,” says Villanelle darkly, for the first time her less amiable traits rearing their ugly head.</p><p>Eve knew they were in there. No self respecting psychopath was that agreeable all the time. They were far too narcissistic for that.</p><p>“I didn't expect to lose.”</p><p>Although thinking back on it, it was all but guaranteed that she would. It was almost as if a small part of her had <em>wanted</em> to lose, wanted everything to go tits up.</p><p>“Well you did, so now you have to go out with me,” whines Villanelle like a petulant child, still doing her best to rein in her no doubt terrible temper tantrum.</p><p>“No, I don't.”</p><p>Blessed silence for a bit and then, “Is this about the dress? I'll buy you a new one.”</p><p>“It's not about the dress. But yes, you will buy me a new one.”</p><p>“Then what's the problem? It's <em>one</em> dinner. You're clearly hangry again. And I know you're dying to hear all about my ingenious kill.”</p><p>Eve doesn't want to say. It's too embarrassing. She mutters something in a way reminiscent of her much more timid alter ego.</p><p>“Outside voice, Eve,” says Villanelle, cupping her ear.</p><p>She groans internally, resigned to her fate, to be mocked by Villanelle for the rest of her life, which given the state of things, might not be much longer.</p><p>“I said, I rented the car under my own name.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Compulsive competitiveness + period brain = a dumb motherfucker<br/>Or really, Eve is the definition of a dumb smart person lol</p><p>It's funny but I'm pretty sure V did have to 'make a break for it' in the show too. They just deleted that scene for time I guess.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here have it a day early because I don't want to look at it anymore :P</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Villanelle guffaws.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> There's really no other possible reaction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Eve glares at her, and it's at that point in time she realizes this <em>isn't</em> a joke. </span>
</p>
<p><span> “Why would you do something </span><em><span>so</span></em> <em><span>stupid</span></em><span>?” she wonders incredulously. “I thought you were a professional?”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>Eve silently fumes. “Because unlike </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>I don't have easy access to </span>
  <em>
    <span>dozens </span>
  </em>
  <span>of I.D.'s at any given moment.”</span>
</p>
<p><span> “It's not dozens, Eve</span>. More like three or four. You should have stolen a car instead.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, because that's <em>so</em> much better,” says Eve sarcastically, with yet another eye roll.</p>
<p>A very frequent occurrence. It's starting to piss her off. She's been nothing but pleasant to Eve, and Eve has been nothing but hostile and rude.</p>
<p>Under normal circumstances a lapse of judgment like this wouldn't be that big of a deal. Whoever she worked for had incredible reach, hands in many pockets. They could fix things so that any evidence left behind - like her previous set of clothes - never made it to processing. Or barring that eventuality, would be swapped out for some other poor schmucks.</p>
<p>It's how she can leave fingerprints all over the crime scene, and the body, and it doesn't matter. Her prison records are not entirely her own. It wouldn't do to have a dead woman's prints turning up at various present day hits.</p>
<p>Unfortunately these aren't normal circumstances. She's willingly brought an untested outsider into her world. Absolutely forbidden.</p>
<p>She can't call the number she occasionally calls when something needs taking care of. They'll have to take care of this themselves. As much as she wants to make Eve fend for herself, she knows she can't. For one thing, that would most likely be a death sentence, which would be a shame since they haven't even gotten to Netflix and Chill yet.</p>
<p>But more importantly, her employers would be sure to retire her. And in her line of wor<span>k, there's no lounging on a beach in Cuba with a mojito in hand.</span></p>
<p><span> “It'</span>s a good thing we're dealing with the mafia instead of law enforcement. All we have to do is kill them all before they kill us and then everything will be fine.”</p>
<p>Eve looks at her like she's crazy. Also another frequent occurrence.</p>
<p>“Let's pretend that's possible. What about your employers? Won't they be mad you killed an entire family of gangsters?”</p>
<p>Not for the first time it sounded like Eve was worried for her safety.</p>
<p>“Probably, but that's managements problem, not mine.”</p>
<p>And by management, she meant Konstantin.</p>
<p>She gestures back towards the bike. “Shall we?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely not. We need a plan. A <em>proper</em> one this time. And I need new shoes. My feet are killing me.”</p>
<p>She looks down and makes a face at Eve's nasty bare feet. Besides being covered in dirt, one of them was wet. And somehow she doesn't think it's water.</p>
<p>“Okay, we'll head back to the hotel, get cleaned up, and then we'll figure out our next moves.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Owing to the whole, 'not wanting to use her I.D. thing', they're sharing a hotel room. Sadly, there's two beds, so she'll have even <em>more</em> difficulty convincing Eve into hers this time around. Or maybe not. Maybe it will be easy peasy. It's one thing to pretend to ignore someone masturbating in another room. It's another when they're right beside you, staring at you while they're doing it.</p>
<p>Eve can say what she likes. Villanelle's not a moron. She can tell that Eve is into her, no matter how much she tries to hide it. She honestly doesn't get what Eve's problem is, why she can't admit it. She's quite the catch if she says so herself.</p>
<p>The elusive answer matters little if they don't survive the night.</p>
<p>So she sho<span>uld probably be paying attention to what is being said but she's finding it impossible to focus while Eve is wearing that sexy</span> suit. It's so sexy it negates her ugly updo. It's so sexy that even the ruined dress can't compete. Villanelle may or may not have tried to sneak a peek a<span>t Eve undressing before Eve firmly shut the bathroom door. And by sneak a peek, she meant, stood right there and watched.</span></p>
<p>
  <span> When she picked the suit out, she had a good feeling it would look good. Her eye for that sort of thing was impeccable. But she hadn't gotten a preview before now. Eve had refused to model for her and only told her yes or no after she tried on the various things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> The suit was by Annelyse Marchal, a prominent French designer that had caught her eye some years back, even while still in prison. The jacket is square shouldered but not obnoxiously so, and somewhat dramatically cuts off around the knees. It has a slight a-line shape starting at the waist that only allows for a single black button to hold it in place. Rather than swallow her small frame, it enhances it, gives her an even more commanding presence. The relaxed fit pants are ever so slightly too long as Eve refused to get them tailored. Villanelle's not a big fan of the colour yellow, especially a brighter shade, but it works particularly well for Eve, her dark hair contrasting nicely. The jacket is open, with a semi-sheer black turtleneck on display. The one concession she allowed Eve to make so she would actually <em>get</em> the outfit. All in all she kind of looks like a sexy, angry wasp. And Villanelle is pretty sure if she tried anything right now, she'd get stung to death. But honestly, it might be worth it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> It's hard to say if the suit really <em>is</em> sexier than the dress, or if another wave of post-kill horniness is clouding her judgment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> As for herself, she's in a pair of high waisted, paler yellow, wide legged pants made out of satin, her favourite material. Her top is a white silk blouse with black polka dots, and a matching scarf. Her hair is tied in a simple ponytail as time didn't allow anything more elaborate. All in all it was a very chic look, and complimented Eve's outfit nicely. Something Eve was less than enthused about when she stepped out of the bathroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Neither of them are wearing high heels of any kind. Just in case.</span>
</p>
<p>Eve snaps in her face rudely. Reluctantly, Vill<span>anelle blinks back to awareness.</span></p>
<p>“Are you even paying attention to me?”</p>
<p>“Yes, b<span>ut not in the way you're asking</span><em>.”</em></p>
<p>Eve huffs in annoyance. The second most common thing she does.</p>
<p>“It's not my fault you're so sexy,” she says bluntly.</p>
<p>Unlike Eve she doesn't have a problem expressing her opinions.</p>
<p>Cue another eye roll. “Is that <em>all</em> you think about?”</p>
<p>Villanelle opens her mouth.</p>
<p>“Besides fashion, food, and murder I mean.”</p>
<p>Villanelle closes her mouth.</p>
<p>This time she gets an eye roll <em>and</em> a huff. “If you're not going to take this seriously, then just leave. Go back home. I'll deal with this myself.”</p>
<p>She guffaws again. “You can't be serious, Eve. No matter how good you <em>think</em> you are, there's no way you can pull this off alone. Like it or not, you <em>need</em> me.”</p>
<p>Besides which, if they subdued Eve, got her to talk, it would be easy enough for them to determine where <em>she</em> lived, and then she'd have to deal with uninvited house guests and try to explain <em>that</em> whole mess to Konstantin. No thank you.</p>
<p>Of course, the easiest solution to her dilemma is to simply kill Eve and then leave the country before all exits are blocked.</p>
<p>“What I <em>need</em> is for you to pay attention so it doesn't go sideways again and we almost get our heads blasted off.”</p>
<p>“Well, if <em>someone</em> hadn't picked such a shit car and strolled right up to the gate in such a suspicious manner, that wouldn't have even happened.”</p>
<p>Granted, she had purposely designed the hit in such a way as to <em>force</em> her to flee because it gave her an extra shot of adrenaline, but that was neither her nor there.</p>
<p><span>“I thought you were supposed to be the smart one?</span>”</p>
<p>The vein in Eve's forehead is popping again. She looks like she's about two seconds away from pouncing and clawing her eyes out. Which is exactly what Villanelle is going for. She's even already on the bed, just in case her underhanded tactics actually work.</p>
<p>Unfortunately Eve deflates all of a sudden, not unlike the London hotel. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and then somehow reins it all in. Just like that.</p>
<p><em>Pity</em>.</p>
<p>“Anyway,” says Eve, with forced calm, “are you going to pay attention now?”</p>
<p>Villanelle nods and Eve lays it all out for her again.</p>
<p>Eve's brilliant plan is to basically make them come to them. Most likely they're scattered looking for them, some at the main ports of exit. Some nearby the rental facility, checking ou<span>t one hotel after another. So staying here much longer is a bad idea.</span></p>
<p>
  <span> Eve wants to lure the Greco crime family to their main rivals, The Bellini's. Apparently Eve determined this through a quick Bing search on her laptop while she was in the bathroom trying her best not to masturbate and clear her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Eve plans to accomplish this by chopping off the head of the man they ran over and planting it on The Bellini's property. Then taking a picture and sending it to The Greco's.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “And how do you expect to contact them?” she asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “By using his phone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “Where do I come in?”</span>
</p>
<p><span> “You get to be my driv</span>er.”</p>
<p>“That's it?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that's it,” says Eve, pl<span>eased as punch to give her so little to d</span>o.</p>
<p>This plan seemed pretty simple to her so she's not sure why Eve was making such a big stink about not paying attention. But whatever, it wasn't worth bringing up again. She <em>did</em> however have some other questions.</p>
<p>“Do you really think they're going to fall for this? I mean, if it's like you say, and they know who you are, then they <em>know</em> you work for MI5 and-</p>
<p>“How do <em>you</em> know that?” snaps Eve, glaring like she wanted to boil her insides. Eve answers her own question. “You went through my purse when I was sleeping, didn't you?”</p>
<p>“How do you like my brand of tampon? I've <span>been thinking of making a change, but I would be curious to get your input first.” The glaring intensifies and Villanelle waits with baited breath for Eve to finally completely lose it and attack her. </span></p>
<p>
  <span> When the moment passes, she sighs internally and continues with, “I mean, why is an MI5 agent involved with The Bellini's?”</span>
</p>
<p>Eve waves a hand dismissively. “It doesn't matter if it makes complete sense. They'll still come because they want revenge.”</p>
<p>“And if they don't fall for this <em>obvious</em> trap, what then?”</p>
<p>Eve balls her fists, knuckles turning white, then lets that jab at her intelligence go too.</p>
<p>“Then I guess we're dead.”</p>
<p>Since indirect goading hasn't worked, she takes a less subtle approach.</p>
<p>“Well, in that case, do you want to fuck again?”</p>
<p>Eve blinks in confusion at the sudden change in topic.</p>
<p>Villanelle places her hand on h<span>er upper thigh, splays her fingers, </span>and is pleased to note Eve's gaze lingering.</p>
<p>“The longer we take to do this, the more time they have to find us,” says Eve, still very much looking.</p>
<p>Not so su<span>btly she spreads her leg</span>s wider, slides her hand even closer to her crotch. “So<span> what you're saying is you </span><em><span>do</span></em><span> want to fuck again when there's more ti</span>me?”</p>
<p>“Let's just get this over with,” says Eve, tearing her eyes away.</p>
<p>Villanelle gets off the bed, comes to stand in her personal space. It's very clear that this sort of tactic has nearly worked the last two times. Third time was the charm, right?</p>
<p>“And by <em>this</em> you mean...?”</p>
<p>Eve almost seems hypnotized by her gaze. It takes some seconds for her to lamely respond with, “I have my period.”</p>
<p>“<span>So</span>?”</p>
<p>For a few brief wonderful moments it seems like Eve is actually going to take her up on her offer, end her suffering. Then she takes a step back and says, “Go get the axe from the lobby. Meet me outside.”</p>
<p>It <span>feels like she's been slapped all over again and she retaliates in k</span>ind.</p>
<p>“No way. I'm <em>not</em> letting you pick the car again. <em>You</em> go get the axe.”</p>
<p>“<em>Fine</em><span>,” growls Eve in a very sexy way, slamming the door on the way out.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Things progress smoothly from there, albeit in strained silence. Eve has just viciously decapitated the man who was thankfully right where they left him. Either the surviving members couldn't find him, even with dogs in tow, or they simply left him there because they had larger concerns on hand, like finding their bosses' killer.</p>
<p>Eve has clearly done something like this many times before because it only took one whack to fully take it off. And she knew just where to stand to avoid any spray back. Mind you, he <em>had</em> been dead for awhile, so most of the blood was coagulated anyway.</p>
<p>Still, it would have been a <em>shame</em> to ruin yet another of Eve's outfits, and have <em>no</em> <em>choice</em> but to help her out of it.</p>
<p>Decapitated mobster in one hand. Bloody axe in the other. Eerie moonlight shining down. All elements that painted a morbidly beautiful tableau, one that Villanelle wishes she was capable of rendering faithfully on canvas.</p>
<p>Instead she snaps a shot with the dead mans phone, flash and all.</p>
<p>Eve nearly drops both items when she instinctively goes to cover her eyes from the blinding light. “What the <em>fuck</em>, Villanelle?!” she complains. “Why did you <em>do</em> that?!”</p>
<p>“Let's call it a souvenir.”</p>
<p>After that Eve reverts back to sullen silence and stashes the head and axe on plastic wrap in the trunk of the Alfa Romeo sports car that she stole. Going back to the same rental place seemed like a bad idea. And it was somewhat late. Likely the owner wouldn't even miss it. Unless of course Eve manages to get it blasted full of lead too.</p>
<p>As predetermined, Villanelle gets behind the wheel again, continues on towards The Belli<span>ni's villa. Driving with the wind in her hair is one of her favourite things.</span></p>
<p>It's only about twenty-six kilometres further, and she's not exactly following the speed limit, so it takes no time at all to get there.</p>
<p>Similar to her last preparation, she stops some distance away, gets her binoculars out, and switches on night vision mode.</p>
<p>Eve snatches them out of her hands before she gets much of a look.</p>
<p>“Hey!”</p>
<p>“I already told you. You're <em>just</em> my driver.”</p>
<p>It's her turn to keep her anger at bay for being relegated to a mere footnote. She manages, but just barely. Touche.</p>
<p>She could literally fight Eve on this point (and win) but that seems counter-productive to their goals.</p>
<p>While Eve takes a gander through the binoculars, she absentmindedly drums on the steering wheel. A vague unease starts to grow. Similar to what she experiences with ghosts, but much more muted.</p>
<p>“I should really come with you-” she begins almost hesitantly.</p>
<p>“You don't have to worry about me,” retorts Eve meanly, throwing her own words back.</p>
<p>After Eve's last horrendous attempt at infiltration, and the fact that she's wearing one of <em>the</em> <em>worst</em> possible colours to remain unseen, Villanelle thinks this highly unfair.</p>
<p>She's just about to argue some more when Eve mutters, “Huh.”</p>
<p>“What is it?” she says curiously, making a play for the binoculars.</p>
<p>Eve knocks her hand away and continues to survey the scene, maddeningly without any commentary.</p>
<p>“Tell me what's going on!” she whines after several more intolerable seconds pass.</p>
<p>Finally Eve puts the binoculars down and looks at her. “Looks like the problem solved itself.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Drive down there.”</p>
<p>“<em>Eve,” </em><span>she warns, not appreciating being kept in the dark.</span></p>
<p>“<em>Do it</em>,” commands Eve in such a way that she can't refuse.</p>
<p>Even before they fully pull up she can see what Eve is saying.</p>
<p>There's bodies everywhere. Riddled with bullets.</p>
<p>The gates are wide open so she can even drive right up to the front entrance, where the greatest proportion of bloody corpses are.</p>
<p>Eve gets out of the car and she follows soon after, head beams still on, illuminating the crime scene.</p>
<p>They walk among the field of bodies, nearly hand in hand, captivated. For a brief moment she imagines herself within the remnants of a battlefield, the lone survivor overcoming overwhelming odds. A hero. If this were a movie, the damsel in distress would now come over and passionately kiss her.</p>
<p>The so called damsel is similarly engrossed, which to Villanelle is hotter than the suit she is wearing, but not as hot as when she effortlessly chopped that guys head off. Eve continues on passed her, doing a thorough sweep of the place, making sure there's no one still breathing. When she finds one poor fuck clinging on, she goes over and steps on his chest, presses down increasingly hard until bones crack. Eve's expression is glorious and rapturous and Villanelle feels the kill like its her own, arousal pooling.</p>
<p>The man shudders once more, then joins the rest of his buddies in oblivion.</p>
<p>Eve hovers near his body for a time, soaking it all in, until she finally takes note of her watchful eyes.</p>
<p>They stare at one another for a few heated seconds, the distance between them seeming to melt away. Whatever inexplicable connection they have is making it a bit hard to breathe, but in a good way. Excitement rapidly mounts. If there were ever a moment Eve would let her in her pants again, it's right now.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, it's right around then she realizes there's another thug still breathing some distance away, and he's just about got his gun trained on Eve from behind. Somehow she knows the gun won't click empty again.</p>
<p>“Drop! Now!”</p>
<p>For once Eve listens to her and drops to the gravel the instant before the shot rings out. Villanelle wastes no time snatching a gun off the nearest dead guy, running straight at their assailant, and plugging the man full of holes. He's already long dead, but she's not satisfied with that. She goes right up to him and shoots him in his stupid supermodel face as many times as the gun allows.</p>
<p>“I think he's dead,” says Eve faintly amused, knocking off the dirt from her clothes. “And I think that's the last of them. Let's go.” She gives her a look that sends shivers everywhere. “I'm starving.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Look, I know that V outfit was from season three but like I really liked it and it was criminally underused. I'll never forgive the choice to switch her out of that and put her in the grandpa suit on the bus. Eve deserves better than that in this fic at least. XD</p>
<p>Inspiration for Eve's look comes from earnthecorruptor on tumblr, who did a bunch of fabulous season four looks. I kind of modified and mishmashed a couple together and added yellow pants too. The more the mellower. :P</p>
<p>I have no idea about fashion but I tried to write the description from the pov of someone who presumably does. Again, I have no idea if Villanelle cares about anything other than the price tag. And I have no idea whether that would actually look good lol, but I figured it had to be something more interesting than a basic suit if it was by a favourite designer. Anyway, I absolutely hated writing that part and won't be doing any more 'in-depth' fashion descriptions in this fic xD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In all likelihood this was precisely what her employers wanted to happen. Start a gang war. Have the competition wipe each other out. Plant a new man at the head of the table with vested interests. Reap the rewards.</p><p>At least, that's what Eve is animatedly theorizing over their eleven o'clock dinner while succulent juices roll down her bare forearms. Coating, moistening, saturating. Slowly but surely preparing the decadent feast before her very eyes.</p><p>Villanelle doesn't give a shit what they wanted or didn't want. She only cares about what <em>she </em>wants. And the object of her current affection is sitting right in front of her with pizza sauce on her face.</p><p>She wants to lick it off but knows that will probably result in the loss of her tongue. Not worth it. Especially when she needs it for <em>other</em> things.</p><p>The post-kill lust hasn't dissipated, and won't fully go away until she does something about it. By now she would normally have fucked at least two people. Sometimes multiple people at once. Rarely did the number go past three.</p><p>Eve is either not exactly like her, or she has better restraint and can will it away. Or food is all it takes to satisfy her cravings. The schiacciata had helped to dull the edge, but now after her latest kill, it's back with a vengeance.</p><p>As a result, she's barely touched her capricciosa, too enraptured with the way Eve's mouth is moving, biting, tasting, enjoying. Never has she wanted to be a slice of pizza more.</p><p>It's only when Eve stops to take a drink of her red wine that Villanelle notices something completely unforgivable. It's so unforgivable she's not sure she'll ever be able to look at Eve the same way again. The haze of sexy thoughts vanishes without a trace.</p><p>“What is <em>that</em>?” she points, disgusted.</p><p>Eve looks a little nonplussed at her abrupt disdainful tone. She glances to her plate for some confused seconds then looks back at her.</p><p>“Have you never seen pineapple before?”</p><p>“I <em>know</em> what <em>pineapple</em> is. What is it doing <em>there</em>? You Americans and your atrocities.”</p><p>Infuriatingly, Eve is tickled by her fury.</p><p>“Have you ever actually <em>tried</em> it?” Eve holds the monstrosity towards her. “Go on, take a bite.”</p><p>Villanelle backs away slightly, barely resisting the urge to slap it out of her hand like she did the horrific clothing.</p><p>“Absolutely <em>not</em>. Where did you even <em>get</em> it? We're in Italy. They don't serve pineapple on pizza. They have <em>standards</em>.”</p><p>“I paid them extra,” explains Eve, still amused. “Period craving. You should really try it before you judge it.”</p><p>“Hmph,” she grumps, slouching and crossing her arms.</p><p>She can't believe she ever had indecent thoughts about someone with such abominable taste.</p><p>“I can't believe this is bothering you more than everything else that's happened today,” chuckles Eve, the sound like glass shards behind her eyes. “You almost died multiple times.”</p><p>“I wish I <em>had</em>. Then I wouldn't have had to witness such <em>blasphemy</em>.”</p><p>“You should go into acting if you ever want a change of profession,” says Eve with an eye roll. “You're such a drama queen.”</p><p>“<em>Am</em> <em>not</em>!” she shouts loud enough to make several heads turn in their direction. “<em>You're</em> the drama queen!”</p><p>Eve rolls her eyes again at her childish retort which pisses Villanelle off so much that she stands up suddenly, knocking her chair over, and storms away from the pizzeria. If Eve wasn't going to take her seriously, or give her what she <em>needs</em>, then she might as well get it somewhere <em>else</em>.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p> </p><p>Within twenty minutes she's found someone to fuck. Which for her is rather slow. Normally all she has to do is walk into a bar and she'll be swarmed by men, or women depending on the venue. Tuscany is not exactly known for its roaring night life, let alone <em>gay</em> nightlife, so it was a wonder she even managed to find a willing woman that fast.</p><p>Maintaining a charming enough persona to entice said woman proved more difficult than usual. Partly because they're in a grocery store and partly because she can barely think straight.</p><p>She didn't give a shit what the woman looked like as long as she didn't remind her at all of Eve. Thankfully this woman has short, thin, shitty hair, bigger tits and an even bigger ass, fake eyelashes and too much makeup. There wasn't much chance of <em>that</em> happening.</p><p>The thirty something woman seemed confused when they went from discussing the merits of certain cheeses to Villanelle blatantly flirting with her and then suggesting they should fuck. Well, she had chosen her words more eloquently than that, but not <em>much</em> more.</p><p>Flattered by her attentions, as she damn well should be, the woman had followed her into the not totally disgusting public bathroom. And now Villanelle is doing her best to get into the groove and finally get off.</p><p>Except she's finding it impossible. The more she tries not to focus on all the things that are wrong - the way the woman smells, tastes, feels, sounds - the more she focuses exclusively <em>on</em> those things, and the faster she gets taken out of the moment.</p><p>Her stupid brain insists on inserting a certain someone on repeat and won't give her a moments rest. The only way she's going to get off is if she imagines this woman to be Eve. But she flat out refuses. She doesn't <em>need</em> Eve for this. She never has before and she never will again.</p><p>She covers the woman's mouth with her free hand in an effort to get her to shut up with the high pitched noises that sound like a fucking dolphin being murdered, but it somehow just makes things even <em>worse</em>, and that's the point at which she gives up and just leaves the woman with her panties on the floor.</p><p>Now in a near blind rage, she stomps towards a secluded area to take matters into her own hands, but some drunken assholes are already occupying the space and decide it's a good idea to come onto her by repeatedly whistling and calling her 'bella'. She savagely knees the one guy in the balls, then smacks the other mens heads together, and continues on her way as if she just swatted some annoying flies. Apparently the only place she'll get some peace and quiet is back in the hotel.</p><p>Before she can enter the building though, she spots the bane of her existence leaning against the wall, casually smoking, hair down and voluptuous once more. All in all looking hotter than she had any right to look. Villanelle was all but convinced Eve's main purpose in life was to torment her. A supposition confirmed with the first words out of her mouth.</p><p>“How was the sex?”</p><p>In her frazzled state of mind, it nearly catches her off guard, nearly makes her reveal her true hand.</p><p>“Fantastic. Best I've ever had.”</p><p>She smiles as widely as she can manage and hopes it doesn't come across as a grimace.</p><p>“Is that so?” says Eve in such a way as to suggest she doesn't buy it.</p><p>Which of course makes her retaliate in a nasty way.</p><p>“Far better than <em>you</em> were.”</p><p>Disappointingly it has zero effect.</p><p>“Well, I'm happy you were so <em>satisfied</em>. You've had quite the busy day. You deserved it.”</p><p>Even with a barely functioning brain, she knows Eve is mocking her, so it's with considerable effort she keeps up the charade.</p><p>“Yes, I <em>did</em> deserve it. There were <em>many</em> willing participants.”</p><p>“Sounds like you had a little party,” says Eve, now barely holding back the laugh, which makes Villanelle just about bash her head into the wall.</p><p>No longer willing to play this game, she moves towards the entrance again, but Eve foolishly blocks her path.</p><p>“Get out of my way,” she demands.</p><p>“Why? So you can go angrily masturbate in the bathroom?”</p><p>“<em>Eve</em>,” she warns dangerously, literally a hairs breadth from snapping her neck.</p><p>“I used to get like you too,” says Eve, completely unconcerned. “It led to some rather questionable situations. But then I learned how to push it down until the opportune moment.”</p><p>So saying, Eve flicks the cigarette away and pulls her into a kiss.</p><p>Villanelle absolutely <em>hates</em> the taste of cigarettes, but she's so far gone she wouldn't have cared if Eve tasted like gasoline. And in a way she does. From the moment their lips touched, she felt scorched all over, like Eve was the match that lit the fuse. A sacrificial effigy enflamed.</p><p>She roughly pushes Eve against the wall like she did at the villa, but this time she doesn't hesitate to do what she wanted to do then; consume, consume, consume, until there's nothing left of either of them, charred husks in human form.</p><p>In no mood for foreplay, she shoves her hand into Eve's pants, only to immediately feel the string of her goddamn extra absorbent tampon. Which means she can't feel much of the effect she's having on Eve. Which is absolutely unacceptable.</p><p>Without waiting to ask for permission, she yanks it out, flings it over her shoulder like it was a totally normal thing to do right in front of a hotel entrance. Eve doesn't seem to mind though, in fact she seems to have found this action hot, if her sexy groan is anything to go by.</p><p>Villanelle invades her as fully as she can manage, goes right up to the hilt, gives Eve everything she's got and then some. She ruts into her like an animal in heat, barely in control of her actions, desperate for more.</p><p>Re-splitting the barely healed cut on Eve's lip, blood floods her mouth, encases her tongue, and she drinks it up like it's an elixir. Her head is spinning like she's on drugs, normally an unpleasant sensation but in this case, divine.</p><p>Maybe in another life she was a vampire. Her cousin, Dima, told her once he saw one in the Siberian tundra. She was six at the time, so most likely he was just being an arsehole trying to scare her because she may or may not have eaten his fancy chocolates, the ones he had been saving for a special occasion. Still, sometimes she wonders...</p><p>Their first time around had been a bit too chaotic even for her tastes, and it had been difficult to fully enjoy the moment. Again, it's impossible for her to be completely present in her current frame of mind, but she tries to slow down a bit, to make this heavenly hell last a little bit longer.</p><p>Eve seems to have the opposite thought in mind, devouring her face and clawing at her back, and all but forcing her to resume the brutal pace she initially set. The beast had been unleashed in both of them, and nothing short of a bullet in the brain would put a stop to this deadly mating ritual before its completion.</p><p>All too soon the walls start to close in, trapping, tightening the noose around her fingers, bringing them ever closer to the slaughter, to the end of the rope.</p><p>Frenzied, about to explode, Eve rips her scarf away, bares wicked teeth, sinks them into the juncture between her neck and shoulder. The pain shoots through her frame like a gunshot, goes straight to her core.</p><p>Finally everything is just right, just the way it's supposed to be, and her body is able to surrender like its been dying to for hours.</p><p>Villanelle has only come once before without even being touched. The previous time involved her first ever murder, the death of her professors husband. She had been so unprepared for the indescribable sensation killing gave, that she hadn't known how to control her body's response to it. And that's when she learned she would have to keep killing for the rest of her if she wanted to get real satisfaction.</p><p>Granted most of the time she herself does all of the touching after the fact. She almost never lets anyone have that kind of control over her in the moment. Not unless they're equally capable of dominating. And very few people were, present company excluded.</p><p>The sex had been very good even when she hadn't recently killed someone, so she knew it would probably blow her mind if she waited for the opportune moment, as Eve put it. And she hadn't been disappointed. This orgasm was one of the strongest in recent <em>and</em> distant memory. Possibly the strongest she's <em>ever</em> had.</p><p>The solid support of the wall is greatly appreciated. As is the warm and enticing flesh near at hand, <em>in</em> hand.</p><p>“Did you just come too?” chuckles Eve breathlessly in her ear.</p><p>“Shut up,” she says without much heat, suddenly exhausted.</p><p>“Feeling better now?” asks Eve still very much teasing her.</p><p>“Your pants are bloody,” is all she says, doing her best to sound normal.</p><p>“You <em>do</em> have a habit of ruining my clothing. I wonder why <em>that</em> is?”</p><p>Villanelle can't decide if she likes flirty Eve more or less than grumpy Eve. They're both annoying.</p><p>“They're not ruined. I know how to get blood out of anything.”</p><p>“So do I.”</p><p>Also like the villa, they stay pressed up against one another for an inordinate amount of time. Time seeming to have no meaning when Eve is around.</p><p>She nuzzles into Eve's hair and takes a deep whiff of her unique essence.</p><p>One half caresses her battered brain like a balm.</p><p>The other revitalizes her senses like a heady perfume with tantalizing metallic notes.</p><p>But if they're going to do this again, she wants to finally use the damn bed.</p><p>Villanelle takes her hand and starts pulling her towards their room. Eve for once doesn't resist, only seems further amused by her eagerness.</p><p>Now that she's had a taste, and more importantly is allowed to take more, she can't seem to stop touching and kissing Eve all the way up the stairs and along the corridor. It's not even midnight but the place is deserted, most occupants on the older side and already asleep after their long, hard day of drinking wine and eating cheese.</p><p>Eve blindly fumbles for the key, and then they stumble into the room, nearly tripping over one another in their haste to get through at the same time.</p><p>She's in the process of taking Eve's suit jacket off when someone clears their throat and says, “Evening, everybody.”</p><p>The light hasn't even been switched on yet but she knows who's crashed their party. She'd recognize that damn voice anywhere. His presence is like ice water in her veins and she suddenly loses all interest in ravishing Eve. She's not fearful exactly but she is mildly concerned about getting caught out like this, and the repercussions.</p><p>Villanelle flicks the light on to find Konstantin sitting on the edge of one of the beds, the one closest to the door. The one she would have fucked Eve on.</p><p>She figures he knows because of her damn neighbour, Madame Tattevin, tattling on her. The stupid bitch. She would've killed her ages ago but Konstantin would've just gotten a replacement. As far as Villanelle knows, he still doesn't know that she knows. She wonders how he'll explain his presence this time. Or if he'll even bother.</p><p>“Eve, management. Management, Eve,” she says by way of introduction.</p><p>Konstantin looks towards Eve for the first time, and Eve looks back just as unflinchingly. “Do you mind giving us the room?”</p><p>“I do actually,” responds Eve sassily.</p><p>Villanelle looks to Eve and almost apologetically says, “It's probably better if you wait outside.”</p><p>“For whom?” says Eve, raising an eyebrow in challenge.</p><p>She leans in close and whispers, “I'll get rid of him as quickly as possible. Promise.”</p><p>Eve seems like she's going to fight her further, then changes her mind and leaves the room.</p><p>Villanelle turns back to Konstantin, folds her arms. “Let's just get this over with. You tell me how naughty I've been and then threaten me to behave myself or else.”</p><p>Konstantin stands, comes to face her. Looms. “If I can't trust you anymore, then we have a problem.”</p><p>“Have you told them yet?”</p><p>“About your MI5 friend? No.”</p><p>
  <em>Fuck. How did he find that out already?</em>
</p><p>“But I will if you don't get rid of her.”</p><p>She was afraid he was going to ask that of her.</p><p>“I won't do it.”</p><p>“You will if you want to keep your job.”</p><p><em> You will if you want to live</em>.</p><p>“It's not fair,” she complains. She was just starting to really like Eve. Every time she had nice things Konstantin tried to take them away from her because of the whole secrecy thing. And in this case, conflict of interest.</p><p>“You know the rules. No outsiders. Ever. If you wanted a partner that badly, you should have just asked. I would have found someone more appropriate.”</p><p>“I'm not going to do it,” she reiterates, standing her ground. She was sick and tired of not being allowed to keep what she wanted.</p><p>Konstantin observes her stubborn attitude for a bit and then surprises her with, “Then I will do it for you.”</p><p>“No, you won't,” she nearly snarls.</p><p>Taken aback by her vehemence, he eyes her cautiously. “Are you going to kill me <em>instead</em>, Villanelle? You hardly know this woman.”</p><p>“I know enough,” she says with conviction.</p><p>“I thought we were family?” he says almost sadly, and Villanelle feels her eyes welling.</p><p>“I thought we were too,” she says, rolling up her sleeves and advancing on him. “But family would never ask me to kill someone I like.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>What can I say? I like to torment the characters. I guess I'm sadistic like that lol</p><p>Obviously, I 100% have NOT been influenced by Hannibal. </p><p>And I obviously 100% didn't get carried away with the abundance of conflating metaphors. xD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The results are in. Pineapple on pizza is still a contentious issue for some reason. xD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She pushes back into the room to find Villanelle and Management having a rather heated difference of opinion. Villanelle is on Management's back, trying to choke him out, and Management is doing his best to fling her off, which has resulted in numerous things being knocked over. The gun Villanelle had taken from a dead mobster is scattered in the corner. Eve wonders if Villanelle knew this confrontation was going to happen sooner or later. Eve is wondering a lot of things.</p><p>She clears her throat and says, “I'm flattered you two think I'm worth fighting over, but if you don't stop that right now, the cops are going to get called.”</p><p>Villanelle looks over at her, hair awry, expression fierce. “Eve, he wants to kill you!”</p><p>“Yes, I gathered as much,” she responds dryly. She walks over to the gun, casually avoids flailing limbs, scoops it up. “You can let him go now.”</p><p>Villanelle still seems unsure about following her orders, but Eve just nods once more to let her know it's okay, and then finally Management is allowed to breathe again. He takes in several long lungfuls of air, staggers over to the further bed and partially collapses on it.</p><p>Eve stays by the door and Villanelle stands on the other side of Management in a triangular formation. He wouldn't be able to easily flee at any given moment. She waits patiently for Management to get a hold of himself.</p><p>When he finally seems to be master of his senses again, she says, “Your people know about me, don't they? What I <em>really</em> do?”</p><p>Both members of her captive audience look a little startled by this query. More so Villanelle than Management, which more or less confirms her suspicions already.</p><p>Still, he doesn't say anything, so she keeps prodding. “It wasn't just coincidence that the Kedrin file accidentally ended up on my desk. Your people wanted to see what I would do. If I would be successful. It was a test.”</p><p>When that <em>still</em> isn't enough to get him to crack, she goes in for the kill.</p><p>“They've been planning to retire Villanelle for awhile now, haven't they? They were looking for a suitable replacement.”</p><p>Management looks like he wants to rip her head off. He closes his eyes in consternation when Villanelle asks, “Is this true, Konstantin?”</p><p>Konstantin looks over at Villanelle and explains, “They've wanted you dead for months. They were hoping Eve would do it for them.”</p><p>“Kill two birds with one stone,” she says, almost impressed by the machinations of this shadow crime organization. Granted, there was by no means any certainty they even would have run into each other at the hotel. That part came down completely to chance. Or destiny. If you believed in that shit.</p><p>“Is this why you didn't check the bathroom?” says Villanelle.</p><p>Konstantin nods. “I had a bad feeling she was in there. I had strict orders not to interfere.”</p><p>“And if Eve didn't kill me, they were hoping the Greco family would, which is why they wanted it done right after.”</p><p>Villanelle talks about this like it's no big deal. Like her employers wanting her dead is just an unavoidable hazard of the job.</p><p>“Yes. I was hoping you would come out on top. I did not expect <em>that</em> though,” he says gesturing to the increasingly large stain on her crotch. The blood was starting to trickle down her leg even but it didn't seem to be of particular importance right now.</p><p>“So now what?” says Villanelle.</p><p>“Now you have to work for them,” says Konstantin, still looking in her direction.</p><p>“I'm not working for them,” she immediately responds. She's seen and heard enough to know that they can't be trusted to have her best interests at heart. She would only be yet another tool to further their own ends. She hoped it wasn't something cliché like world domination, but something told her that wasn't far from the truth.</p><p>“You have no choice. They know who you really are. What you've done.”</p><p>Villanelle stares at her curiously as he says this part.</p><p>“They own you. The first thing they will make you do is-”</p><p>“I'm <em>not</em> killing Villanelle,” she bristles, as much for the ask as the idea that all her secrets were laid bare to some nameless entity. “No matter how annoying she is.”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>They both ignore this outburst.</p><p>“You have no choice,” reiterates Konstantin. “If you don't do this, they will kill you too.”</p><p>She's not sure if he means directly or through extradition.</p><p>“I don't think they will. They've put too much time and effort into this little charade. They want me too badly to just throw it all away,” she says smugly. “If I have no choice in the matter, then I have one condition.” She looks to Villanelle. “She remains unharmed.”</p><p>When had she started caring about Villanelle's life as much as her own? Was it the moment their eyes first met and it's only now that she's realized it? Or had it happened more gradually than that over the course of the whopping two days of their chaotic acquaintance?</p><p>“That's unacceptable. They will never allow that.”</p><p>If Villanelle is taking this part of the conversation personally at all, there's no indication.</p><p>“Then I won't work for them.”</p><p>“You have to.”</p><p>“No, I don't.”</p><p>“Then you will die,” states Konstantin matter of factly.</p><p>Having hit a stalemate, she looks back to Villanelle, and in a somewhat aggravated tone, says, “<em>Well</em>, don't you have anything to say?”</p><p>Eve is startled out of her increasingly grumpy mood when Villanelle marches right over to her, cups her face with both hands, and kisses her deeply. They've kissed numerous times but never quite like this. This was passionate but not angry. This was the sort of kiss Niko used to give her after they were just married, before she began retreating further and further into herself and her murderous designs. This was the sort of kiss that signalled hours of sex and as many orgasms as her body could handle.</p><p>“Ladies! Now is not the time!”</p><p>“Get out!” they both demand of him at the same time.</p><p>Konstantin looks shocked for a second at how in sync they are, then gets the fuck out, apparently deciding better of further interference in the sex life of two prolific killers.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p> </p><p>It's been awhile since she's fucked a woman in her twenties. Many years in fact. It wasn't that she was incapable of snagging any, it was that she often imagined them to be someone else, someone that was near and dear to her heart. And afterwards, when they left, or she <em>made</em> them leave, she was left with nothing more than the aching reminder of what could have been. And that usually drove her to the bottle, or otherwise made her lash out at unsuspecting passersby. Which wasn't exactly good for her cover identity.</p><p>For the first time in a long time though, she's staying present and in the moment, savouring every minute, keeping Villanelle's face firmly in view, not replacing it with a fading memory.</p><p>She hasn't had a chance to properly explore Villanelle's frankly exquisite body, so she's taking her time now, slowly making her way down, bit by glorious bit, impatient eyes watching her all the while. Occasionally a hand tries to force her to move further down but she resists, or stops all together until it retreats, a grunt of annoyance ushered shortly thereafter.</p><p>Still, Eve is surprised with how much leeway Villanelle is granting her. She expected her to either immediately start complaining or fully take control of the situation. Instead, she's mostly humouring her, and more importantly, giving her vagina a chance to recover. Their last fuck had been short lived but feral, and she wasn't exactly able to rebound the same way she used to. So every second she can waste lavishing young skin is precious.</p><p>When she finally gets to where Villanelle has wanted her all along, the hand comes back, threads through her curls, grips tightly but not painfully so. She can feel hips twitching, the urge to ride her face rippling but never breaking the surface. Eve is continuously impressed with Villanelle's level of restraint. Once again, first impressions were proven wrong.</p><p>Considering her strong personality and gag levels of perfume, Villanelle tastes surprisingly mild, like a light breeze on an early Spring morning.</p><p>Hips rock faster, like a boat at sea, the weather turns stormy, violent, uncontrollable, and suddenly the boat capsizes, and the gleeful captain sinks to her demise.</p><p>Within a minute Villanelle has resurfaced and flipped their positions. She wastes no time crawling lower, settling in between her thighs. Sensually, Villanelle licks the trail of blood upwards, getting closer and closer, lust filled gaze never once straying from hers.</p><p>If her previous thirst for blood was any indication of what <em>this</em> was going to be like, Eve wasn't prepared.</p><p>Villanelle gives her a wicked grin then dives in.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>**</p><p> </p><p>If someone had told her two days ago she would be in the arms of someone like Villanelle, she would have laughed in their face and then proceeded to kill them. Clearly they were unspeakably stupid and shouldn't reproduce. Unnatural selection as it were.</p><p>As it is, she finds being here to be a balm on her troubled mind. She was now stuck between a rock and a hard place. Damned if she did and damned if she didn't. And whatever other overused expressions that came to mind.</p><p>Even if she <em>did</em> kill Villanelle, it wouldn't change anything. They would still own her, she would still be trapped within the prickly cogs of this sinister wheel. To make matters worse, she doesn't even know who <em>they</em> are. So trying to launch some kind of well planned offensive was impossible. You can't fight an enemy that you can't see. Which was probably the point. Remain in the shadows until it's too late, until no one on Earth can stop them. She's well acquainted with the shadows, has occupied that space for most of her life. So she knows how difficult it is to find, let alone <em>catch</em>, someone there. Somehow they did. Somehow they made the connection all the way back to America.</p><p>She's always wondered if her past would come back to bite her in the ass and now she has her answer. It only took twenty years. Not bad, all things considered. She got to do plenty of things she wanted to do in that time. Not all murder related either. She's lived a full enough life. If this is the end, she can make peace with that.</p><p>Eve's not sure she can say the same of Villanelle. The much younger woman was just getting started. Would likely have had an illustrious career that would have rivaled her own, if she had only learned to rein in her arrogance and cockiness. Of course, then they probably never would have met. Which would have been a shame. Eve hasn't felt this wide awake in years, and she can only imagine what might have become of them had they had more time.</p><p>Still, it's unnerving to think of Villanelle in the same vein as Rebecca. It's the whole reason she was so hesitant to succumb to her desires, to let Villanelle occupy even a small space of her barely beating, scarred heart. The fear that things would turn out the same way. In the end, the tug between them was too powerful, their connection too strong, and she simply couldn't resist.</p><p>“You are worrying very loudly,” says Villanelle, pulling her back to the present.</p><p>She doesn't even bother denying it this time. It's plain as day, even without words.</p><p>“Do you have <em>any</em> ideas of what we can do?”</p><p>“Besides more sex? Not really.”</p><p>“And that doesn't bother you at all? <em>None</em> of this bothers you?”</p><p>“Very little bothers me, Eve. Except for maybe ghosts.”</p><p>It was most likely meant as another joke to lighten the mood, however she doesn't take it as such.</p><p>“You and me both,” she sighs, suddenly having the urge to cry.</p><p>
  <em>Stupid period!</em>
</p><p>For once Villanelle gets serious, looks her in the eyes. She puts a warm and comforting hand to the side of her face. “What happened to you? Who are you really?”</p><p>Eve figures if they're going to die, she might as well tell her. It couldn't make matters worse.</p><p>“My real name is Faith Choi. I was born and raised in Seattle. My parents immigrated there for the usual reasons people do, the supposed American dream and all that crap. I was a model citizen and student up until college. And that's where my story really starts.”</p><p>She steels herself for this next bit. She's never talked about this with anyone, has barely ever even thought about it with herself.</p><p>“There was a girl...Rebecca, she was my best friend...and I was secretly in love with her. I was far too repressed to ever do anything about it though. And then one night she was beaten to within an inch of her life by some homophobic assholes. I got to the hospital in time to hold her hand as she took her last breaths. She had recognized her attackers, and I made her tell me who they were before she died. Some arrogant jocks who thought they were God's gift to the world.”</p><p>In an odd way she's almost proud of herself. Her voice had barely quivered as she narrated the worst moment of her entire life.</p><p>Even so, she takes her time before she resumes. She'd really rather not start crying in front of Villanelle if at all possible. For one thing she probably wouldn't be able to stop. And for another, she doubts Villanelle has the full capacity to understand such an emotion, and it would be more likely to annoy than anything else. But then again, perhaps she isn't giving her enough credit.</p><p>“That same night I went after them. I knew which fraternity they were a part of. I snuck in and I stabbed them in their sleep. All three of them. The next day I was questioned by the police as to my whereabouts. Rebecca and I had practically been inseparable, and it was no secret those men despised us. I was the most likely suspect.</p><p>“However, without a murder weapon, eye witness or a confession - which they tried <em>very</em> hard to acquire - they didn't actually have anything on me. Nothing concrete anyway. It helped that my roommate was a total stoner and couldn't be positive whether or not I was in my room at the time of the murders. So they had no choice but to let me go. Needless to say, I wasn't very popular among my fellow classmates for the remainder of my senior year.</p><p>“Because of that controversy, I wasn't able to get into the FBI. They didn't want to have anything to do with me. They <em>claimed </em>it was because I failed the screening process, but I doubt that's truly the case. My whole life I had dreamed of joining them, and suddenly I knew I never would.</p><p>“Then some years later my father died. My parents had been separated for some time and he had been living and working in Britain. I went to the funeral and then decided to stay. There was nothing left for me in America, nothing but bad memories and a mother who didn't like me very much.</p><p>“That's when I changed my name. Besides wanting a fresh start, I knew if I was ever to have any chance of joining law enforcement of any sort, I would need a new identity. I used most of the savings I had made from odd jobs – like crime scene cleaning - to acquire a good one. One that would pass even the most rigorous testing. And if it didn't, well, I made it pretty clear what would happen to the man I employed for the task.</p><p>“I applied to numerous organizations, and after a number of years, one of them finally got back to me. MI5. It wasn't my first choice or my second, but I decided it was better than nothing, so I accepted the position. For the most part they had me doing analytics. Occasionally they would ask me to make a profile of a person of interest. Other than that, things were not particularly interesting. And that's when I redoubled my nocturnal efforts.”</p><p>Villanelle absorbs all of that like a sponge and then, “Had you ever really stopped though? After that first time?”</p><p>“No. I killed people who needed killing even before I came to Britain.”</p><p>“Don't you think that's a little hypocritical of you, Eve?” teases Villanelle. “Trying to join law enforcement while secretly murdering to your hearts content?”</p><p>“Mostly I kill people who slip through the cracks, get off on technicalities.”</p><p>Villanelle laughs at that. “By that logic, you should kill yourself.”</p><p>She was very good at compartmentalization in regards to herself and her ill deeds, so she didn't much appreciate it when someone called her out on her bullshit.</p><p>Eve shoves her shoulder a little too aggressively to be playful. “Shut up.”</p><p>Villanelle apparently takes it as the warning it is because she doesn't push further.</p><p>“What did you do with your first murder weapon?” asks Villanelle conversationally, like they were just two gals swapping first date tales.</p><p>“Threw it into the glass blowing kiln on campus.”</p><p>It was very surreal casually talking about this after so many years of silence. Today might very well be the strangest day of her entire life.</p><p>“Why go to all that trouble only to get a shitty desk job? Why not join the American police force instead? Much easier.”</p><p>“Please. Don't insult me,” says Eve narrowing her eyes. “They're a corrupt and racist institution full of fascist pigs. Why would I want to be a part of that? I have <em>standards</em>.”</p><p>Villanelle smirks slightly, walks her fingers along her arm. “You failed the physical fitness part, didn't you?”</p><p>Eve says nothing and Villanelle's smirk turns into a shit eating grin.</p><p>“You <em>better</em> not say anything about my smoking again, I swear to God, Villanelle,” she warns.</p><p>Like lightning, Villanelle sobers. She takes her hand and kisses it. “You did the right thing, you know. With Rebecca. I would have killed them too. I'm sorry that happened to you.”</p><p>Taken aback by the suddenness of such an apparently genuine and heartfelt display, Eve is at a loss for words for several moments. Then she mimics Villanelle's previous action, sticks a hand to the side of her face.</p><p>“What about you? Who are <em>you</em> really?”</p><p>And then Oksana Astankova proceeds to tell her all about her shit mother and childhood in the Russian orphanage. About burning it down and ending up in a detention centre. About going to university and falling in love with her language professor. About killing and castrating her husband and going to jail. About being chosen by the shadow crime organization to do its bidding. About the trials and tribulations associated with that task. About how, despite having everything she's ever wanted, she still feels like she's missing something, and no matter how inventive or reckless she gets with her kills, she never seems to find it.</p><p>Villanelle looks at her sincerely, runs a hand through her hair.</p><p>“But I think, now, maybe I have.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It may or may not be obvious that this 'twist' just happened when I was writing the scene (including the end of last chapter). So if some things don't make sense that's why...and if you thought it was brilliant, then that's also fine. xD</p><p>I'm sorry but I have limits. I'm not gonna write about Villanelle hoovering her bloody vagina. Just use your imagination if you're into that sort of thing. xD And these sex metaphors...I don't know what the fuck I'm saying anymore. :P</p><p>I was gonna have this bit about how smart Eve was for using something other than a kitchen knife or something stolen from the hospital and V being turned on by her ingenuity...but couldn't actually come up with an everyday item that wouldn't be too brittle and breaking off in multiple bodies :P...plus she killed them in a rage more or less so her being totally smart and scheming doesn't make much sense. But anyway my point is that stainless steel doesn't actually melt in glass blowing kilns because it doesn't get hot enough. It would however get rid of any evidence left behind. So there's that at least lol</p><p>I went back and forth on whether I should put the cop joke in...but YOLO...and I KNOW there's a physical fitness part for the FBI too but it was too funny to pass up. I'm not positive but I think the closest thing to the FBI is the NCA...as of right now. Back when Eve would've tried joining, that didn't exist. Seems like there were constantly separate organizations that kept coalescing over the years. MI5 seemed less confusing lol</p><p>Without doubt it will be finished by chapter 12. There's no way it's gonna be longer than that.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Groggy eyed and grumpy, she drags her ass into work Monday afternoon.</p>
<p>Despite sleeping on the plane again, she's still exhausted. She hasn't had that much sex in awhile, and Villanelle was very...thorough.</p>
<p>So it is that she's walking a little strangely as she makes her way to her desk, an extra strong, extra large black coffee in hand.</p>
<p>Her office mate, Elena, immediately notices something is off and decides to pipe up in an overly cheerful manner that she generally hates.</p>
<p>“Late night playing squash bal<span>l </span>was it?”</p>
<p>Eve sets her coffee down and then awkwardly takes a seat across from her, shifting uncomfortably. Still, it was more comfortable than Villanelle's couch.</p>
<p>“Is that how you got the shiner?” points Elena when she doesn't respond.</p>
<p>Fuck. Did she forget to put concealer on?</p>
<p>She reaches up to touch the tender area on her forehead. She honestly can't tell if she put makeup on or not, and the darkened reflection of her computer monitor isn't helping her ascertain this either.</p>
<p>She's known as a massive clutz around these parts (because occasionally she gets into a scuffle with someone who antagonized her) so she could play it off as yet another clumsy Eve moment. Or she could just roll with the punches and give half truths today.</p>
<p>Painfully awkwardly she glances down and murmurs, “Oh, um...well...there was this <em>man</em>...and we well...<em>you know</em>...and I kind of miscalculated...so...yeah.”</p>
<p>Suspicions confirmed, Elena lights up like a firecracker. “Eve! You horndog! I'm so proud of you for finally getting some!” She leans across their shared desk space. “Did you wear that dress I told you to wear?”</p>
<p>She nods timidly.</p>
<p>“And you said that thing I told you to say?”</p>
<p>Another nod, even meeker.</p>
<p>“See, I <em>told</em> you,” says Elena smugly. “The Fabulous Felton Formula is tried and true. Never fails. You should've let me be your wing woman <em>months</em> ago. Do you have a selfie?”</p>
<p>Eve flashes back to their morbid nighttime excursion, and the photograph Villanelle had taken of her...and subsequently made into her laptop background.</p>
<p>“Oh, um...no?” she<span> says adjusting her glasses anxio</span>usly. “Like...that would be...rude?”</p>
<p>Not easily deterred, Elena presses with, “His name then? Facebook?”</p>
<p>If she were capable of blushing she would surely do so now.</p>
<p>“I uh...didn't actually get it,” she mutters, hanging her head in shame.</p>
<p>Elena looks like she's about to explode with this torrential flood of juicy gossip. Especially since it's coming from <em>her, </em><span>t</span>he quietest, most inoffensive person in the office. Some part of her must have <em>wanted</em> to tell someone about Villanelle or she would've just straight up lied like she normally does.</p>
<p>“Wow, you're just full of surprises today, Eve! Showing up late for work and then <em>this</em>!” Elena calms her tits slightly and continues, “I like it. You should show this side of yourself more often.” She winks. “Let that inner tiger out.”</p>
<p>“Haha, yeah...I'll be sure to do that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even though it's only a half day - something Bill was sure to lazily chastise her about - it feels endless, and she finds herself nodding off multiple times.</p>
<p>When she opens her eyes towards the end of the work day, she finds a mysterious package on her desk. The only marking being her name in formal writing. Which means it was <em>not</em> mailed here but rather hand delivered.</p>
<p>She barely has time to comprehend its existence before Elena is hovering over her shoulder.</p>
<p>“Secret admirer?” teases Elena, sticking her coat on.</p>
<p><em>Something like that</em>, she thinks.</p>
<p>“Oh, gosh...I don't know? Do you think? Who could it <em>possibly</em> be?”</p>
<p>“Maybe it's the <em>man</em> you were shagging all night,” jokes Elena, tickled by her obtuseness. Almost everything she said seemed to amuse her in one way or another. “Maybe he figured out your identity and sent you a gift.”</p>
<p>She's not sure why her alter ego is straight, other than to be contrary in all aspects of her life. And also, she has a <em>slight</em> suspicion that if she <em>wasn't</em>, Elena might have tried to get her out of her shell in increasingly personal ways. And her office life is complicated enough as it is.</p>
<p>“Go on then, open it. I'm curious.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I don't know...I mean...there could be...<em>personal</em> things in there.” She glances around nervously, then waits for Elena to hunch over so she can whisper, “It could be...<em>sex</em> <em>stuff</em>.”</p>
<p>Elena laughs then whispers back, “All the more reason to let me see.”</p>
<p>Mortified, Eve stutters nonsensically for so long that Elena finally backs off, bids her good day.</p>
<p>Eve sits there, eyes glued to the innocuous looking thing and waits for the office to fully clear out. Then with a sigh, she opens the ticking time bomb.</p>
<p>Inside is a letter, also in the same formal script, a photograph, and a usb drive.</p>
<p>The letter is brief and to the point.</p>
<p>'<em>We know who you are. What you've done. If you don't comply with the enclosed assignment, we will let the authorities know too</em>.'</p>
<p>Curiously, the first parts are almost identical to what Konstantin said in Tuscany. She wonders if <em>he's</em> the one who wrote this. If they <em>made</em> him write it and deliver it to ensure they knew where his loyalties lay. Even though he <em>seems</em> to be on their side, she's not sure she can trust it. She's not sure she can trust Villanelle either.</p>
<p>The photograph is of her college professor. A handsome, charismatic man. Beloved by many. And also her fourth murder. He had been accused of misconduct and had several sexual assault allegations against him, but nothing could be proven...or so they said. It was stupid to kill someone else from the same school within a year, but she had <em>thought</em> she had done it in such a different way that no one would connect the dots. Apparently she was wrong.</p>
<p>The fact that she changed her name and moved to another country doesn't exactly help her case. If they so much as <em>implied</em> her involvement, it would probably be game over.</p>
<p>She shudders to think what would have happened if Elena had playfully snatched the package away and torn it open before she could stop her.</p>
<p>Elena was a fun loving, easy going person, but she wasn't stupid. Even a cryptic message like that would have raised some serious eyebrows.</p>
<p>Eve would have had a hell of a time explaining this away.</p>
<p>They could have easily delivered this to her home. She figures that was the point. To further intimidate her, let her know that they can get to her whenever, make her life a living hell with minimal effort.</p>
<p>So thinking, she sticks the usb drive into the computer. Sure enough, it's exactly like Konstantin said.</p>
<p>A less than flattering prison profile picture of Oksana Astankova pops up, the only time Eve has seen her not looking 'devastating'.</p>
<p>The actual information about her is somewhat edited. They make no mention of her being an assassin. What it <em>does</em> say is that she's an escaped convict and has been killing indiscriminately for years...which unfortunately isn't too far from the truth. It also says that she recently killed a high value asset and needs to be taken care of for that reason.</p>
<p>There's GPS coordinates which presumably will lead her to the Paris flat.</p>
<p>There's also a future date at the very bottom for this Saturday.</p>
<p>The day Villanelle would have to die.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Almost like it's their first official date, Eve nervously stands outside Villanelle's door. Her palms are actually sweaty. That hasn't happened since college. Sure there are rather dire extenuating circumstances attached to this date, but still, she's kind of surprised. In a good way.</p>
<p>She steadies herself, then finally works up the courage to knock.</p>
<p>The door immediately swings open, which leads her to believe Villanelle had been standing right there, wondering how long it would take.</p>
<p>Villanelle is dressed in the same blue satin robe she wore in the London hotel. Presumably there's nothing else beneath.</p>
<p>“Hey.”</p>
<p>“Hey.”</p>
<p>“She out?” asks Villanelle.</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>Villanelle steps aside, grants her entrance. She deposits her purse in front of the pretentious French stills. Villanelle closes the door. They turn to face one another and just stare.</p>
<p>Eventually Villanelle glances towards the bedroom. “Do you want to...?”</p>
<p>“Oh, um, sure,” she says, attempting to adjust her non-existent glasses, like she's suddenly reverted back to her alter ego.</p>
<p>Villanelle leads the way, Eve close behind, and then again, they just stand there beside the bed, staring at one another.</p>
<p>Why was this so awkward? They had literally aggressively fucked in public and now for some reason it's like they're middle schoolers afraid to hold hands.</p>
<p>Determined to push past <span>whatever</span> <em>this</em> was, she removes her shoes, then takes off her coat, shirt and pants, and goes to lay on the bed. And damn if it isn't amazing. Whatever mattress Villanelle has is light years beyond her own.</p>
<p>She must have smiled or something because Villanelle smirks and says, “I <em>told</em> you. You should have joined me that night. I would have kept my hands to myself.”</p>
<p>“No, you wouldn't have,” she shakes her head slightly.</p>
<p>“No, I wouldn't have,” agrees Villanelle, finally regaining a bit of her usual spunk.</p>
<p>Eve runs her hand over the silky smooth browney-orange bedspread. “Is this new? I don't recall it being here last week.”</p>
<p>And dear God, has it really only been a week?</p>
<p>“It was a parting gift from a pervert.”</p>
<p>Eve gives her a quizzical look, to which Villanelle elaborates. “Greco. The old bastard was ready to fuck me while his grandson was in the bathroom.”</p>
<p>She assumes the grandson in question is the illustrious 'fat kid' that Villanelle had eluded to back at the villa. She's only just realized that they never actually talked about the hit. Her own little pressing issue superseded everything else.</p>
<p>“What a charming man,” she replies dryly. “Poor kid though.”</p>
<p>Even though she didn't actually manage to be the direct cause of his entire family's demise, she still feels a twinge of guilt about her presence. For all she knows, the man she killed could have been his father.</p>
<p>Villanelle shrugs. “That poor kid just inherited a lot of money. If he's smart he won't follow in granddaddy's footsteps. I have my doubts about <em>that </em>though.”</p>
<p>“And how <em>did</em> you do it? Your self proclaimed ingenious kill?”</p>
<p>“I'm surprised you haven't read about that by now,” says Villanelle disbelievingly. “It's been all over the papers.”</p>
<p>“I've been a bit preoccupied with planning.”</p>
<p>She leaves out the 'your death' part but obviously Villanelle gets the message.</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>Fuck. Did she just make it awkward again?</p>
<p>“Come to bed, Villanelle,” she says, patting the space beside her.</p>
<p>If they were going to do this, it might very literally be now or never. There were no guarantees going forward. And she was also on the clock, which is why she's kept her trusty watch on.</p>
<p>“You're not going to do it right <em>now</em> are you?” asks Villanelle, almost timidly.</p>
<p>Holding back the eye roll she says, “I'm practically <em>naked</em>, Villanelle, how would I manage that?”</p>
<p>Seemingly it's only then that Villanelle has allowed herself to notice this fact, because it's only then that she eyes her up and down in interest.</p>
<p>She pats the bed again, this time more insistently, and finally Villanelle comes closer, gets on the bed with her.</p>
<p>Villanelle just stares at her again and Eve practically loses it.</p>
<p>“Oh for fucks sake,” she grumbles, then grabs a fistful of her robe and pulls her into a kiss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Afterwards, (and honestly more than once <em>during</em><span>)</span> Eve checks the time and sighs internally.</p>
<p>“I have to kill you now.”</p>
<p>“How do you plan to do it?” asks Villanelle politely. Whatever previous misgivings she had about the whole bizarre situation seemed to have dissipated.</p>
<p>Eve straddles her and lightly squeezes her throat.</p>
<p>“With my bare hands,” she jokes, releasing.</p>
<p>“Kinky,” replies Villanelle, eyes darkening slightly in arousal.</p>
<p>More seriously she says, “I've brought something. We're going to have to make it look good.”</p>
<p>“Please <span>do. I'd hate for my final photograph to be less than per</span>fect.”</p>
<p>Based on Villanelle's previous aversion to her, she <em>must</em> know it's going to be more than <em>just</em> a photograph. Just to make sure she double checks.</p>
<p>“Yes, Eve, I know,” says Villanelle, rolling her eyes.</p>
<p>Reluctantly, Eve gets off the bed, gets dressed, then goes into the bathroom and starts running a cold bath.</p>
<p>She collects her purse and also brings that into the bathroom, removes a small metallic case. Quadruple checking that what she needs is actually <em>in</em> there, she closes it, then heads back to the bedroom, where Villanelle is already cleaning up any signs of their dalliance. Eve helps her look for any and all physical evidence on the bedsheets, namely her 'beautiful' hairs, then gestures for Villanelle to come with her into the bathroom.</p>
<p>Tub three quarters full, she turns off the water, then picks up the case.</p>
<p>She retrieves a needle from it and Villanelle flinches back.</p>
<p>“Are you <em>seriously</em> afraid of needles?” she wonders aloud, somewhat exasperated.</p>
<p>“Not the needles <em>themselves</em>,” replies Villanelle, eyeing it warily. “What's <em>inside </em>of them.” She looks to her again. “Just ask Greco. Oh wait, you <em>can't</em>.”</p>
<p>Oh, so <em>that's</em> how she did it. That was rather ironic, all things considered.</p>
<p>“There's no poison in here,” she reassures.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Not of the lethal variety anyway.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Eve nods towards the tub and Villanelle shrugs out of her robe and gets in without testing the temperature first.</p>
<p>“Shit, Eve, did it need to be fucking freezing?!” she yelps.</p>
<p>“Yes, actually, it did,” she responds dryly.</p>
<p>She kneels beside an already shivering Villanelle and holds the needle aloft. “This is going to put you into suspended animation. Kind of like hibernation but without breath. Your heartbeat will be so faint and slow as to be undetectable<span>. The ice cold water serves a dual purpose, that of simulated drowning as well as keeping your tissues intact. Preventing brain damage for as long as possible. My hope is that Madame Tattevin comes in here shortly after you 'die' and calls emergency serv</span>ices. In fact, I'm counting on her being too frail to get you out of here. The longer you stay in here, the better.”</p>
<p>“And if that <em>d-doesn't</em> happen?” chatters Villanelle.</p>
<p>“I don't even want to think about that,” she intones somberly.</p>
<p>“What if s-<span>someone tries to do </span>C-CPR?”</p>
<p>“It won't have any effect. The drugs will keep you under no matter what.”</p>
<p>“E-ev<span>en if they s-shocked me?</span>”</p>
<p>“They wouldn't do that. You need a detectable heartbeat to use defibrillators.”</p>
<p>“Then h-<span>how come they a-always do it w-when they've f-flatli</span>ned in shows?”</p>
<p>“Because TV is stupid,” she answers flippantly, losing her patience. “Are you ready now?”</p>
<p>“What is th-that?” she says, nodding towards the needle.</p>
<p>“It's a cocktail of drugs, carefully calibrated to your unique physiology. The last one is inert and won't kick in for approximately eight<span> ho</span>urs. Which should be long enough for them to investigate, take you out of here-”</p>
<p>“But n-n<span>ot long</span> enough to start c-cutting into me?” says Villanelle, amused.</p>
<p>That made one of them.</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“And th-then what? I wake up in the m-m-morgue and my body g-goes missing? Won't that be just <em>slightly</em> s-s-suspicious?”</p>
<p>“We have a man on the inside. He's going to look after all that. Believe me, he's been well compensated. And I'm pretty sure he's not dumb enough to double cross Konstantin. Or <em>me</em> for that matter.”</p>
<p>Villanelle holds her gaze for several beats. “I t-t-trust you.”</p>
<p>Eve is touched by the sentiment, real or not.</p>
<p>“I'm not sure <em>I</em> do,” she confesses in a rare instance of doubt.</p>
<p>“It's going to be f-fine.” Villanelle leans sideways, gives her a corpse cold kiss, and Eve does her best not to imagine such a reality. “N-now h-h-hurry up and k-k-k-kill me before the old b-b-bag wakes up.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yay, dork Eve/Kenny/Kara made an appearance! Wasn't sure that would happen lol.</p>
<p>Hands up. How many thought the package was from Villanelle? XD</p>
<p>Originally I wasn't going to stop the chapter here since I figured pretty much no one would believe she was actually going to die...but I had to move the next scene to keep the remaining chapters more similar in length lol</p>
<p>I didn't go the 'fake crime scene take a photo' route because I've seen that before in this fandom. I didn't go the 'V just disappears without a trace because that's typically how Eve takes out the trash' route because all that would've entailed is V walking out the door...which would've been lame af imo...and no fun at all. So instead I went with something similar to something I had seen in a movie one time many years ago and is definitely 100% realistic. I was very enthused to find a way to sort of parallel their first date in her home with Eve being partially waterboarded LMAO.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Eve, thank you for joining me here today.” Helene holds out her hand, and Eve feels obliged to take it. “Or do you prefer Faith?”</p>
<p>Helene is a polished French woman of a similar age. She has a face of understated beauty and an air of je ne sais quoi. She dresses in the same chic way as Villanelle, polka dot scarf included. Eve swears it's the exact same one Villanelle wore in Tuscany.</p>
<p>The urge to rip it off and bite her is already mounting.</p>
<p>“Eve is fine,” she says with forced calm.</p>
<p>They size each other up for several moments and then Helene gestures for her to take a seat at the end of the long conference table. Interestingly enough there are twelve seats, and she wonders if this is in fact their base of operations. Based on the host of security measures to enter this unassuming office building, you would have thought this was The White House.</p>
<p>Helene herself sits nearby on the armrest of a different chair, hovers overhead. Typical power move. It also affords her a close look at every minuscule tell Eve may make. If there were any lingering doubts about what did or didn't happen on Saturday, now would be the time to catch her out.</p>
<p>And sure enough, “Interesting choice not to shoot her in the head.”</p>
<p>Anticipating such a question, Eve barely skips a beat before she neutrally responds with, “If you're familiar with my work then you know I don't generally do that when I leave bodies behind.”</p>
<p>Helene smiles pleasantly. “I'm glad you've agreed to accept the new opening. We had been considering Rhian.” Here she looks over to the young, dour looking woman in the corner dressed all in black. “However, she's still untested.”</p>
<p>“And I'm not?”</p>
<p>“You've already proven yourself more capable than most.”</p>
<p>Again, it was impossible to tell if that was some sort of veiled accusation or not. All she knew was that Konstantin had advocated on Villanelle's behalf numerous times. If anyone was likely to double cross them on this matter, it was him. So it was always possible that he could have recruited her to his scheming designs.</p>
<p>“Why am I here?” she asks, getting straight to the point.</p>
<p>The longer she stayed in this woman's presence, the more time she had to forget her place and <em>accidentally</em> slam her with one of the chairs, like they were on WWE. Rhian didn't seem to be armed, and possibly no one was allowed to be within the confines of these walls, but that didn't mean she wasn't capable of killing her. Besides, there were probably hidden cameras everywhere in this room, so a security team would likely burst through moments later. All in all, losing her temper would lead to nothing good.</p>
<p>“I wanted to meet you. Face to face. To welcome you into our little family.”</p>
<p>There was that family crap again. Is that where Villanelle got it from? It's the company line?</p>
<p>“I don't suppose you're going to tell me more than that,” she says, barely holding back the sarcasm. “And I don't suppose I'm actually working for a covert branch of MI6 either.”</p>
<p><em>Or getting paid</em>.</p>
<p>Helene just smiles at her, quietly amused. “I also wanted to personally give you your next assignment.”</p>
<p>Helene retrieves a familiar looking postcard from the fruit bowl in the centre of the table and hands it to her.</p>
<p>Bulgaria.</p>
<p>Then she nods towards the brand new Apple MacBook Pro. The same one as Villanelle's, albeit a newer model. She wonders if Apple is one of their benefactors. She wouldn't be surprised.</p>
<p>Eve really hopes they don't come pre-installed with spyware...because otherwise her Bing search in Tuscany would've raised some eyebrows. She thinks Villanelle is tech savvy enough to at <em>least</em> take basic precautions against unwanted eyes. Perhaps that was why Konstantin got a human spy to watch her every move while home.</p>
<p>“All the information you'll need is right there,” says Helene, tapping the serial number of the postcard.</p>
<p>“I'd appreciate it if you didn't send anymore suspicious packages to my desk,” she says gruffly.</p>
<p>The lines around Helene's eyes crinkle once more. “Of course not. That was a one time thing. From now on you'll have a handler. He'll explain any and all questions you may have, as well as provide valuable guidance for your assignments.”</p>
<p>There must have been some sort of hidden line of communication between them because none other than Konstantin walks into the conference room right then.</p>
<p>“Konstantin Vasiliev. Eve Park.”</p>
<p>Eve stands to shake his hand as well, keenly aware of Helene's ever watchful gaze.</p>
<p>“Nice to meet you,” he says.</p>
<p>“Can't say the feeling is mutual,” she replies rudely.</p>
<p>Konstantin lets out a bark of laughter. Then he looks to Helene and says, “I like this one.”</p>
<p>“Let's hope for your sake you don't like her <em>quite</em> as much as the last.”</p>
<p>Which sobers Konstantin very quickly.</p>
<p>Helene spares one last searching look between them and then dismisses them.</p>
<p>The second they get out of the building, Konstantin says, “Breathe, Eve, the hard part is over.”</p>
<p>“I'm not so sure about that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just like their 'first date', she's nervous again. It's been over a week since they were last face to face, and she has no idea what to expect. She doesn't know if Villanelle will have any lingering resentments towards her for what she was <em>forced</em> to do to <em>save</em> her, or if Villanelle will be perfectly fine about the whole ordeal, like nothing even happened.</p>
<p>Currently she's waiting in an abandoned Bulgarian building with a fairly open floor plan.</p>
<p>There's no power and the blown out windows are bordered up like her blackout curtains. So the only source of light is from a camping lantern she brought with, which only illuminates about a four metre radius. The rest is blanketed in dark and silence.</p>
<p>They weren't likely to be seen together here. Not unless it was by some squatters or drug addicts. But Eve has searched this level like a patrolling cop, and no one seems to be home.</p>
<p>She is however, half expecting Villanelle to sneak up on her out of the shadows and grab her from behind, pretend to be someone else altogether just to have some fun. Or perhaps to get revenge. Not only for 'killing her' but also for supplanting her position.</p>
<p>While she waits, her imagination comes out to play.</p>
<p>The light slowly extinguishes and the darkness creeps in on her, pulling her into itself. The darkness takes human form, enveloping her like a warm embrace. Securing, caging. Arms of immaterial nothingness nevertheless have weight and familiarity. At once invigorating and calming.</p>
<p>There's no need for words. In this moment they are the same, as if they have always been a part of the other, but only just realized it. She would stay here in this seductive touch and absolute understanding for all eternity if she could.</p>
<p>As it is-</p>
<p>“Howdy, partner!” booms Villanelle suddenly, right beside her, sound echoing.</p>
<p>Even though she was anticipating some trickery, it still makes her heart leap for several seconds. She takes a moment to compose herself, then turns to face her colleague, lover...enemy?</p>
<p>“What. The fuck. Is that?” she says pointing to Villanelle's wig in a similar level of disdain to that of the pineapple.</p>
<p>Villanelle shakes her head back and forth, her dark, curly, full bodied hair gently swaying. “I needed to look the part, Eve.”</p>
<p>“You look ridiculous. And you're <em>white</em>. No one would believe you're me.”</p>
<p>Villanelle smirks slightly. “Not up<em> close</em> anyway...”</p>
<p>Eve sighs, defeated already, twenty seconds into their reunion. “Do you know who you're going after?”</p>
<p>Villanelle starts circling her like a shark, like she's waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Every once in awhile she trails a hand along her arms or torso. “Some naughty businessman who's been dipping his fingers,” - here she sticks a finger into Eve's top, draws a line between her cleavage - “into places he shouldn't be.”</p>
<p>It's with considerable effort that she keeps focused. The last time she saw Villanelle, she was corpse-like. Having warm flesh and blood so near at hand is almost overwhelmingly tempting. And the feeling appears to be mutual.</p>
<p>“And you're going to get rid of the body the way that I detailed, right? Not proudly display it like you usually do?”</p>
<p>“Of course,” says Villanelle in a not very convincing manner.</p>
<p>“I'm serious, Villanelle. If you deviate even a little bit from the plan, this could all come crashing down on our heads.”</p>
<p>Villanelle stops circling, playing with her, comes to stand before her again.</p>
<p>The light source is behind her, her face shrouded in darkness.</p>
<p>For one startling moment, she feels as if she is facing off against herself.</p>
<p>“If you're <em>so</em> concerned I'm going to mess up, then <em>you</em> kill him.”</p>
<p>“You know why I won't.”</p>
<p>The target was less of a scumbag and more of an opportunistic gold digger, stealing from the mega-rich corporation he worked for and lining his own pockets. Eve was hardly altruistic, except in a mostly frowned upon way, but honestly she was more likely to applaud him than kill him.</p>
<p>As long as the person had some kind of online presence, she could check the facts, and her blackmailers knew that she likely would, so they hadn't edited anything like they had with Villanelle.</p>
<p>This was probably yet another test. To see if she would go against her code. But except in very rare instances, like her husband, she never has.</p>
<p>Villanelle throws her head back in annoyance. “Don't be so <em>boooring</em>, Eve. Having a conscience isn't all it's cracked up to be.”</p>
<p>Eve didn't believe that anyway. Villanelle <em>did</em> have a conscience. She spared that 'fat kid' in Tuscany. She would never hurt a child. Villanelle just couldn't be bothered to apply it to other things because it suited her lifestyle not to. Eve's pretty sure it's the main reason Villanelle never used to read the profiles of the people she was killing.</p>
<p>Or maybe it's all just wishful thinking on her part.</p>
<p>“Besides, didn't you slaughter <em>poor</em>, <em>innocent</em>, Kasia?”</p>
<p>Thrown for a loop, she retaliates passionately.</p>
<p>“She <em>wasn't</em> innocent! Villanelle,” she defends. “She was complicit in trafficking the other girls! Some of whom weren't even legal! She used her status as a model to lure them in!”</p>
<p>Villanelle shrugs nonchalantly which nearly incenses her. “She was probably forced to do that. Or die.”</p>
<p>“You really think someone with so many outside connections couldn't have gotten out of that situation if they had <em>really</em> <em>wanted</em> to?!”</p>
<p>“We have connections and <em>we're</em> trapped.”</p>
<p>Eve really hopes she's just messing with her right now and isn't actually<em> that</em> dumb. Otherwise she'll start to think she really did suffer brain damage.</p>
<p>“Because <em>our</em> connections are all tied together within the <em>same</em> organization we're trying to escape!”</p>
<p>Villanelle observes her for a moment, amused. “Wow, you're getting really worked up about this.”</p>
<p>She fumes brightly for a bit, then quickly loses steam. “Just do it the way that I would do it and then meet me at the hotel.”</p>
<p>“Or...you could come <em>with</em>,” says Villanelle, trailing a finger tantalizingly slowly along her clavicle. “You could watch over me and make sure I'm doing things to your <em>high</em> standards.”</p>
<p>Part of her brain knows she's being mocked, the other larger part is doing its best not to throw itself into Villanelle's arms.</p>
<p>“We can't risk being seen together.”</p>
<p>“Fine. See you soon,” grumbles Villanelle, who attempts to give her a kiss, but she turns her head at the last instant and it lands on her cheek instead.</p>
<p>Villanelle pouts and then leaves, finally letting her breathe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She waits and waits for Villanelle, distractedly reading and smoking, growing increasingly worried something has gone horribly wrong. If either of them had phones, she surely would have left several voicemails that she would've been mocked for later on.</p>
<p>Then finally, <em>finally</em>, Villanelle shows up, stupid wig still in place.</p>
<p>“Everything all right?” she says a little too eagerly.</p>
<p>“Just peachy,” responds Villanelle cryptically.</p>
<p>Annoyed with her attitude she orders her to, “Take that ridiculous thing off.”</p>
<p>“Make me,” taunts Villanelle, hands on hips.</p>
<p>Not one to back down from a challenge, Eve launches herself off the bed, charges at Villanelle. Just barely, Villanelle manages to dodge her surprisingly speedy and athletic attack.</p>
<p>“Wow, you can really move when you want to,” says Villanelle, impressed. “Too bad you don't have any endurance because you smoke so much.”</p>
<p>“I do not smoke <em>that</em> much,” she says, incredibly pissed off.</p>
<p>Though truthfully these days she <em>was</em> pretty likely to consume half a pack a day. But she sure as hell wasn't about to tell Villanelle that. She can't believe she was concerned about this assholes well-being at all.</p>
<p>She makes another unsuccessful lunge, nearly smashes headlong into the wall.</p>
<p>Villanelle is completely nonplussed by everything and even gave her ass a little smack as she passed by, like Villanelle was a sexy matador and Eve was the bull.</p>
<p>Disdainfully, Villanelle looks towards the contents of the makeshift ashtray. “You <em>do</em> know you're not supposed to smoke in here, right?”</p>
<p>“What are you going to do? Call the cops?”</p>
<p>“Are you going to catch me or not?” says Villanelle, yawning. “This is getting <em>boring</em>.”</p>
<p>It's been literally thirty seconds since she walked through the door.</p>
<p>Eve is more strategic this time, she runs at her like normal, then stops just shy, throwing Villanelle off her game. One more instant and she would've captured the flag, or in this case, wig.</p>
<p>“Ooh, so close,” teases Villanelle, skirting around, just out of reach.</p>
<p>Fed up with this dumb game, with Villanelle playing with her after she worried for <em>hours</em>, Eve goes over to her things, starts collecting them.</p>
<p>“What are you doing?”</p>
<p>“Leaving,” she says.</p>
<p>“No, you're not,” chuckles Villanelle, really grating her gears.</p>
<p>“Yes, I am.”</p>
<p>“But we haven't even had sex yet,” whines Villanelle, when she realizes she isn't joking.</p>
<p>“And whose fault is that?” she says, throwing her a dark look.</p>
<p>“You're <em>not</em> leaving,” says Villanelle just as darkly.</p>
<p>Eve holds herself up to her full height, all five foot five glorious inches. “What are you going to <em>do</em>, Villanelle, hold me here against my will?”</p>
<p>For a few seconds that looks to be exactly what she's planning on, then she crumbles, becomes puppy like. It has zero effect on her though. She's indifferent to animals, with the exception of perhaps chickens.</p>
<p>“Come <em>on</em>, Eve,” mopes Villanelle. “Don't be so stupid. We were just playing a game.”</p>
<p>“Don't you <em>dare</em> call me stupid,” she snaps.</p>
<p>“Okay, you're not stupid,” says Villanelle, flinching back slightly from her murderous gaze. “You're incredibly smart and also have an <em>amazing</em> personality.”</p>
<p>Done with the mocking, Eve grabs the rest of her stuff and attempts to storm passed her but Villanelle blocks the exit with her body.</p>
<p>“Get out of my way,” she demands in a similar manner to that of outside the Tuscany hotel.</p>
<p>Finally Villanelle yanks off the wig, tosses it aside. “There it's gone. Let's kiss and make up now.”</p>
<p>“I said, get out of my way,” she says, getting ready to sucker punch her in the solar plexus.</p>
<p>Rather than comply, Villanelle pulls her into a kiss. Eve quickly bites her, <em>hard</em>, and Villanelle lets go.</p>
<p>Villanelle licks at the dripping cut she made on her bottom lip. “I prefer yours,” she says, eyes full of overwhelming lust once more.</p>
<p>And while Eve could fight her, to the death if necessary, she really can't find it in herself to care when Villanelle is looking at her in <em>that</em> way.</p>
<p>After all, there were <em>other</em> ways of teaching Villanelle a lesson in manners...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aggression fucked out of her for the time being, they share a bed once more.</p>
<p>She's embarrassed to admit just how much she missed Villanelle, how much she craved this closeness, this human connection. Those endless hours where she didn't know if her plan had worked were absolute agony. Somehow she already feels as close to Villanelle as she does the darkness, like if something ever mortally wounded her, she would fall into oblivion too.</p>
<p>“So...how long do you think it will take until we have what we need?” asks Villanelle.</p>
<p>What they need is proof of The Twelve's dirty deeds. Even if it's only from one member. If they can get that, then they have leverage, something to bargain with. Something to make sure that they're left alone. MAD as it were.*</p>
<p>“I don't know,” she answers. “Konstantin is working on it though.”</p>
<p>“And if he can't get it?”</p>
<p>She'd really rather not entertain that notion, even if it was highly probable. “Then we'll be doing this until they decide I'm not worth keeping around either.”</p>
<p>Villanelle makes a face at that. Eve's not sure if it's about the idea of her demise, or the idea of keeping up this charade indefinitely, not getting 'praised' in the press for her inventive kills.</p>
<p>“Has this made you jealous or resentful at all?”</p>
<p>“Of what?”</p>
<p>“Of them choosing me over you.”</p>
<p>She watches Villanelle's expression carefully, looks for warning signs.</p>
<p>“If you weren't you, then yes. But you <em>are</em> you, so no.”</p>
<p>As sweet as that sentiment is, she's not sure she buys it entirely.</p>
<p>“Okay, maybe just a teeny tiny amount.” Villanelle hugs her closer, breathes her in. “We could always run away. Hide. Forget about all of this.”</p>
<p>Slightly exasperated she says, “We already discussed why that would never work. They'd find us eventually, or the cops would, and I refuse to live my life forever looking over my shoulder. Besides, there's no way you'd be satisfied with settling down in a cabin somewhere with nothing to do. Besides me,” she interjects quickly, beating Villanelle to the punch. “Never killing again. You'd hate it and so would I. One of us would end up dead.”</p>
<p>“Don't be so pessimistic, Eve. We could kill each other. Like Romeo and Juliet. Very romantic.”</p>
<p>Eve rolls her eyes at that and then rests a hand against Villanelle's chest, mostly reassured by the strong, steady beat, but not completely. “How are you doing?”</p>
<p>“Since you drowned me?” answers Villanelle cheekily. “I had a nasty headache and felt like my whole body was on fire, but that went away after a few hours and I've felt fine since. The guy did the cognitive test and then smuggled me out in another body bag. Surprisingly comfortable.”</p>
<p>Most of the time Eve can't tell if she's being serious or not.</p>
<p>“Well...I'm glad you're okay,” she admits out loud, hating how vulnerable such a simple gesture feels. She hasn't really been genuine with another human being in a long time.</p>
<p>Villanelle not saying anything at all doesn't really help matters so she deflects with, “I have to leave soon. My flight is in three hours.”</p>
<p>And of course since she's being blackmailed, they're not exactly splurging on first class, so she can't show up last minute.</p>
<p>“How are you getting back?”</p>
<p>“The same way I came,” grumbles Villanelle. “By shitty train. It takes forever! I'm starting to have sympathy for your dilemma in Tuscany.”</p>
<p>“Oh, <em>really</em>?” she says, smug now that the tables have turned.</p>
<p>“Just a tiny bit. Can't I have an I.D. so I can fly?”</p>
<p>She asks this in the same way a child would ask for a toy.</p>
<p>“And have the same one on record in every country I'm supposed to have killed someone? Do you really want to risk that?”</p>
<p>“It is <em>very</em> inconvenient being dead,” sulks Villanelle.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*MAD = Mutually Assured Destruction. It was coined in relation to nuclear warfare. (I always wonder how many people they have working on these acronyms lol)</p>
<p>I finally got to use that overused french expression. Incroyable!</p>
<p>I only noticed now when I watched that 306 scene again, that there were in fact 12 seats at the table. I didn't just make it up for this fic haha. And the scarf IS very similar to Villanelle's Tuscany/perfume one lol. Anyway, I would be surprised if we DON'T see that conference room again next season. But given their track record of not developing the main villains...who knows?</p>
<p>They never said what Kasia's profession was in the show (or if she even had one) but they did have that photograph that Bill took a shine too, so I went off of that.</p>
<p>I suppose really and truly they could've blackmailed V into working for them too. i.e. if she didn't work for them they would just throw her back into prison, but it would be even worse than the last time. But they probably thought if they compensated her she'd be easier to work with...except she got full of herself and demanded more and more money and finally they decided to cut their loses. I am of the opinion that Konstantin was telling the truth when he said he had advocated on her behalf many many times to give her another shot. Which means he must genuinely care about her (or maybe he just kept asking for more chances because if he didn't get them they'd consider him useless and take him out too :P). So I kind of ran with that for this fic, guiding all of his actions. </p>
<p>And I can't believe Sandra/Eve is taller than me. xD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She wouldn't say that 'dying' changed her per say, there were no bright lights, no spiritual journeys had, but it did give her a whole new lease on life. So if she holds Eve's hand from time to time when they're having sex or she makes more of an effort to be considerate of her feelings, it's because that's what girlfriends are supposed to do.</p><p>While plenty of other women (and a handful of men) have caught her eye since Tuscany, she hasn't felt compelled to try and get into their pants. She wasn't like normal people. She got fixated very easily, like a light switch being flicked. That fixation usually vanished just as quickly. The only exceptions in her life being Anna, and now Eve.</p><p>Anna was too normal to truly understand her though and so had turned her in when she made the ultimate declaration of love. Eve on the other hand...Villanelle bets good money Eve would have taken her to bed right then and there if she had done a similar thing to Niko.</p><p>Unfortunately Eve had already killed him so Villanelle would need to look to alternate avenues to make the same declaration.</p><p>They definitely have not been giving Eve as many assignments. Maybe they are warming her up still. Or maybe they are simply <em>not</em> trying to kill her. She suspects the reason she was given so much leeway time wise for Kedrin was so that Eve would have ample opportunity to plan and act. They both just <em>happened</em> to pick the last day of his vacation to go after him. No wonder Konstantin kept getting impatient with her, trying to get her to do it faster. But she had been determined to do it in that specific way and that had necessitated waiting.</p><p>The only reason she ever had to go 'home' was to access the dropbox where Konstantin would leave money, train tickets and upcoming assignments. The location changed every time, with the new one recorded in the old one, but it was always within the U.K. And it was always exceedingly tempting to pop by Eve's place. There wasn't much <em>else</em> to do in between kills.</p><p>The only thing that stops her is the knowledge that Eve would crucify her if she ever did. She's not afraid of anyone, but she <em>is</em> kind of daunted by Eve from time to time.</p><p>Eve had only killed two out of the six so far because the rest were apparently not bad enough for her liking. Tell that to her late husband.</p><p>Killing Eve's way was getting progressively boring. It didn't have the same pizzazz she was accustomed to. It was too by the books for her liking. Sure she had a fair amount of freedom to <em>kill</em> however she saw fit...but it had to be in private, and the body had to be disposed of properly afterwards. Which was tedious and annoying. And sure this had kept Eve out of trouble for the better part of two decades, but so what? If no one ever knew what she had done besides herself and Eve, what was the point? And if you weren't going to enjoy what you were doing, why bother doing it at all?</p><p>She had decided she was going to spice things up this time around. Not too dramatically, but just enough to have some fun. And just enough to make Eve mad but not so mad that she wouldn't have sex with her the next time. She figures if she leaves a single body part behind, something small, like a tooth, this should accomplish her goal, and perhaps give her further wiggle room for greater deviations from the status quo in future. After all, Eve had left whole bodies behind in London, so she could hardly be blamed for this 'accidental' oversight.</p><p>Her ruminations are cut short by an unwelcome sight.</p><p>That of the fucking Conductor doing an inspection.</p><p>She's been riding the rails for months and not once have they done this. She doesn't know if it's a random, routine, security check, or if he is actually looking for someone in particular. Either way, it doesn't matter. She doesn't have any I.D. because stupid Eve and Konstantin didn't trust her not to abuse it and purchase plane tickets instead.</p><p>She could have risked raiding her hidden money stash back in Paris. But then she might have run into Madame Tattevin. And as much as she <em>used</em> to want her dead, the urge is much less so these days, seeing as the old bag is the main reason she's still alive.</p><p>She could have robbed enough people to get a shitty one made. As long as it didn't need to withstand more than a cursory glance, it would have been fine. But then she ran the risk of the I.D. maker being an undercover cop, and that seemed like an unnecessary mess to potentially deal with.</p><p>So now here she was with a fairly pressing dilemma. This was a one stop train. It's not like they're on the subway and she can skeddadle momentarily.</p><p>Casually, Villanelle gets out of her seat, makes her way in the opposite direction, towards the cargo hold for oversized items. When she gets there, she does her best to break in, only to find it impossible without the proper tools on hand.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>She heads back the way she came, slows her pace just so, so that he's turned away from her and busy examining someone's card when she passes by.</p><p>She nearly makes it back to her seat, when he calls out to her. “Excuse me, miss...”</p><p>Ignoring him, she continues moving forwards, the man still calling after her.</p><p>She can hear him picking up speed and that's when she dodges into a vacant bathroom.</p><p>Seconds later he's knocking on the door.</p><p>“Excuse me, miss, but I'm going to need you to step out of there for a moment. I just need to check your ticket.”</p><p>Ticket <em>and</em> I.D. obviously.</p><p>“I'm afraid that's simply impossible!” she laments in a Scottish accent. “Me bowels are about ta explode!”</p><p>Then she proceeds to make all sorts of horrible noises, including some truly spectacular fart sounds against her arm.</p><p>Her dead brother would be so proud of her right now.</p><p>Maybe she's laying it on a little thick since she watched <em>Shrek</em> for the first time the other day. Better out than in.</p><p>She hears the faintest sigh from outside, but she keeps this disgusting cacophony going for several minutes longer, just in case he's still lingering, unlike the nonexistent stench she's creating.</p><p>When she finally exits, several people look in her direction, then avert their gaze. Thankfully she's incapable of feeling embarrassment, so it doesn't phase her in the least.</p><p>Disaster averted, she takes a seat again, faces the opposite direction, so when the conductor came back, he wouldn't see her face. Smugly, she puts her hands behind her head, goes back to daydreaming about how she can finally express her love for Eve.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p> </p><p>She's just gotten off the train when the damn conductor makes an appearance not ten feet away, like he was waiting for her.</p><p>
  <em>How the fuck does he know what I look like?</em>
</p><p>They make direct eye contact and then he comes after her, one of those annoyingly overzealous employees that didn't know when to quit.</p><p>She doesn't have luggage, but she <em>does</em> have a pretty hefty backpack, and it's definitely slowing her down enough for this older asshole to catch up.</p><p>She <em>could</em> ditch it, but everything she needs for her next kill is in there, including a rather fetching cop outfit she was hoping to use with Eve.</p><p>So instead she depends on her superior conditioning to outlast him.</p><p>Weaving through the hordes of people in the busy station, she's confident she will lose him soon enough.</p><p>Except she doesn't. Every time she chances another look behind, there he is.</p><p>
  <em>What the fuck? Is this guy the terminator?</em>
</p><p>Strangely, he doesn't seem to have called for backup.</p><p>For one heart-stopping moment she wonders if he's an assassin in disguise. That The Twelve have caught onto their game. That they may have already gotten to Konstantin and Eve, and she's the last one on the to-do list. She didn't exactly have up to the minute updates from them. There was no way to know if they were okay.</p><p>Pushing down a rare bout of panic, she makes it all the way outside, checks to see that he is still following, then purposely leads him into a deserted alleyway.</p><p>The only weapons she has in her bag are tactical gloves and razor wire, and they're not exactly packed on top, so she doesn't have enough time to reach either before he's cornered her.</p><p>She'll have to use her bare hands. Fine by her.</p><p>Except the bastard pulls out a stun gun from his fanny pack and tazes her before she can get to him.</p><p>“You know, it's really rather annoying how inconsiderate you Millennials are,” he tsks disdainfully, as she writhes slightly on the ground. “You lot always have to make such a fuss about every inconsequential thing.” He holds out his hand. “Now, would you <em>please</em> show me your ticket.”</p><p>Oh <em>now</em> she gets it. This guy is batshit. Driven mad by endless hours of repetitive customer service. Good to know.</p><p>Relief floods her system when she realizes the game is still afoot, that the only two people she cares about in the whole wide world are safe.</p><p>“You know...I can't...move, right?” she murmurs, face plastered to the ground.</p><p>“That's no excuse,” he tells her, raising the stun gun again.</p><p>Jesus Christ, if <em>this</em> is how she goes out, her ghost is going to be forever haunted. Maybe even so far as embarrassed.</p><p>With every ounce of her being she wills herself to move.</p><p>Her left hand twitches up a few milimetres then collapses.</p><p><em>Fuuuuck</em>.</p><p>The stun gun is leveled again, this time directly at her fucking forehead. And she's pretty sure if she takes another hit so soon after the last, she really is going to end up brain dead.</p><p>The insane conductor smiles at her pleasantly as he prepares to fire pure fire into her skull. “We hope you enjoyed your journey.”</p><p>Without rhyme or reason <em>he's</em> the one collapsing, falling forward on top of her. For a moment the air is knocked out of her lungs completely. Then the dead weight of insanity is shoved off of her, revealing the love of her life.</p><p>“Eve?” she questions, utterly bewildered by her presence. There's no logical reason for her to be here right now, no possible way she could've found her. “What...are you...doing here?”</p><p>Eve sits down off to the side of her, so she's in full, unstrained view, crosses her legs. “I thought I'd join you this time.”</p><p>“What happened to...it's...too risky?”</p><p>She knows she's barely intelligible and yet Eve seems to have no problems deciphering.</p><p>Eve gives her a pointed look. “I thought it was <em>less</em> risky than the alternative.”</p><p>“Was I...that obvious?”</p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, scoffs lightly. “You complained about how unfair it was for like ten minutes straight last time.”</p><p>“How did...you...find me?”</p><p>“I imagine the same way he did,” says Eve, bemused. Then inexplicably, she hunches over and exaggeratedly sniffs her.</p><p>It's super hot. That's the sort of thing she usually does to her.</p><p>“You're wearing a shit ton of perfume again,” elaborates Eve when she still doesn't seem to get it. “And your clothes aren't exactly the blending in sort.”</p><p><em>Oh, right</em>. She feels pretty dumb all of a sudden.</p><p>“Can you move yet?”</p><p>Her limbs were starting to tingle which was a good sign.</p><p>“I'll probably...be fine...in a minute.”</p><p>Eve smirks down at her, strokes her numb face. “What would you do without me?”</p><p><em>I don't know</em>, she thinks.</p><p>“Is he dead?” she says.</p><p>“What do <em>you</em> think?” says Eve, throwing a dark look his way. “He assaulted you. And he saw your face. He couldn't be allowed to live.”</p><p>Fuck it was so hot when Eve didn't give a shit about who she killed and just let go. Villanelle likes to think she's been a good corrupting influence on Eve.</p><p>Eve likes to think the opposite, that she's succeeded in making Villanelle more discerning.</p><p>Perhaps the truth is somewhere in between.</p><p>Eve helps her to her feet a little while later. She takes a moment to appreciate the dead guy, the way Eve had expertly rammed a pen into his ear, perforating both eardrum and brain matter, instantly killing him. Villanelle can't say she's ever had the pleasure of dispatching someone that way, and makes a mental note to try it out one day.</p><p>Then they stagger out of the alleyway like she had too much to drink.</p><p>“So...do you want to get some gelato?” she asks, hearkening back to their Tuscany trip.</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>“Really? I was joking.”</p><p>“I think that would be nice,” says Eve, taking her hand, threading their fingers together.</p><p>Villanelle's heart flutters and she wonders if she's dreaming. Eve never acts this way in real life. Not in public anyway.</p><p>“How have you been?” says Eve. “With the exception of the last few minutes.”</p><p>“Oh...fine, I guess? I mean, everything is shit, but it's fine.”</p><p>“<em>Everything</em>?”</p><p>“You know what I mean.”</p><p>“I'm sorry about that,” says Eve squeezing her hand in sympathy. “I thought we'd have <em>something</em> by now.”</p><p>It's been over two months and <em>still</em> all they know about her ex-employers is that they're called The Twelve and some sexy French lady may or may not be a member. At this rate she'll be a bum for the rest of her life. But if she gets to keep Eve by her side, it might be worth it.</p><p>“And you? How have you been?”</p><p>“Nothing to complain about,” replies Eve. “Except for missing you.”</p><p>Then she pulls her into an embrace, holds her tightly for several elongated beats, the rest of the world fading into obscurity. Sex with Eve was the best of her life, but her hugs might actually top that, if only because they were rarer and all the more precious.</p><p>Seriously, what the fuck was happening? Eve almost never openly expressed her feelings. Villanelle could read her like an open book, so she already<em> knows</em> how Eve feels. But it's surreal to hear her say those words. She can't even remember the last time someone had expressed a similar sentiment, or if they <em>ever</em> had.</p><p>Holding hands again, they walk in companionable silence for some time, Villanelle soaking up this simple, yet glorious display of coupledom. She hadn't realized just how much she had been craving being normal, doing normal things.</p><p>(Minus the dead guy in the alley)</p><p>Villanelle directs them into a promising looking gelato shop. They place their orders - a pistachio for her and a mango for Eve - and then she tips the girl twenty euros. It would have been <em>way</em> more if she had been flush with cash like she normally was, but either way, the effect is the same. Her eyes light up like it's Christmas and she thanks her profusely.</p><p>She notices Eve side-eying her, amused.</p><p>“What?” she says as they exit the establishment.</p><p>“Do you often do that? Spread the wealth?”</p><p>Villanelle shrugs like it's no big deal. “Only when I'm in a particularly good mood.”</p><p>Which was generally code for 'I just killed someone'.</p><p>Eve smiles softly at that and gives her a peck on the cheek. For once she doesn't have the urge to turn it into a make-out session. She's content to just exist in the same space as Eve. It's strange, but pleasant.</p><p>They continue their stroll through the vibrant town square, scooping gelato into their own mouths, and occasionally each others. More than once Eve misses her mouth.</p><p>“Okay, now I <em>know</em> you're doing that on purpose,” she complains, attempting to lick it off but not quite managing.</p><p>Silently, Eve laughs at her and then licks it off <em>for</em> her.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>Eve leans in on tippy toes and seductively whispers, “Do you want to get out of here?”</p><p>And of <em>course</em> Eve is horny. She just killed someone. It's kind of inconvenient for <em>her </em>as she was enjoying them doing something <em>else</em> for a change.</p><p>“Can we at least finish the gelato first?” she wonders, almost apologetically.</p><p>“Oh,” blinks Eve, surprised. “Yeah, sure.”</p><p>They make their way into a well maintained park, to a bench that's reminiscent of the one she slept on like a bum that first night they 'met'. It's about three in the afternoon on a Saturday, and the sun is shining, so there's a fair amount of people going about their dog walking, bicycling and the like.</p><p>She doesn't know what compels her to admit this but she does. “I don't know how to ride a bicycle.”</p><p>Eve looks at her incredulously. “But you can ride a motorcycle.”</p><p>“It's not the same thing,” she defends unnecessarily harshly.</p><p>It's not <em>her</em> fault she had such a shit childhood and no one <em>bothered</em> to teach her. She side-eyes Eve and hesitantly says, “Will you teach me someday?”</p><p>“I can teach you right now if you'd like.”</p><p>“But...we need to be heading out soon,” she says, confused.</p><p>“No, we don't.”</p><p>“I don't understand,” she frowns, wondering if Eve has perhaps gone mad too, and that's the real reason for this impromptu, <em>public</em> visit. Not to keep tabs on her work.</p><p>Before she knows what's happening, Eve has straddled her lap and wrapped her arms around her neck. Reflexively, she brings her hands up to her hips, waits for a kiss that never comes.</p><p>“I lied before,” says Eve very seriously.</p><p>Eve's gaze is direct and piercing, and time stands still the same way it did when they first laid eyes on one another, like she was peering into a mirror and seeing her whole self reflected back at her. It only took a single moment for her to know they were the same, that she had finally found who she was meant to be with. So used to being alone and reliant on no one, she hadn't fully accepted this inevitability, this fate, and as a result she had nearly driven Eve away, nearly <em>killed</em> her. Thankfully that hadn't come to pass. For either of them.</p><p>She knows what's coming before it does.</p><p>“Konstantin got what we needed.”</p><p>Even knowing, her brain stumbles over this massive revelation, nearly grinds to a halt.</p><p>“It's really over?” she says, breathless, like Eve had just kissed her senseless. “We're free?”</p><p>“Yes, baby,” says Eve, giving her a dazzling, joyful smile. “We're free.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And then they had sex on the park bench. :P</p><p>I actually wrote the last bit of dialogue before the 100 ended but I'm sure I was influenced regardless LOL. And also now I am FREEEE too, so....:DDD		</p><p>I called him a conductor, which is the North American term, but our murder wives are in a nondescript European country (for their safety and anonymity of course, not my laziness) and the name apparently changes from area to area.</p><p>I know you need I.D. to buy train tickets, but I'm not sure you need it to actually GET on board. And even if you do, I don't care lmao.  And farts will never not be funny. Eve is one lucky lady.</p><p>I'm so proud of myself for finally finding a spot to put the sniffing bit. Like I expected it to be in Tuscany but it never worked out. I almost gave up hope. How foolish of me.</p><p>I had this other even more ridiculous version in mind where V like launches herself at the guy only for him to taze her mid-air and then she collides into him, he hits his head on the ground and DIES. She's paralyzed on top of him and thinking how proud she was of herself for killing someone while she can't even MOVE. And then Eve shows up and is like, “Should I give you two some privacy?” But the main issue with that version was that there was no explanation for his actions and I couldn't very well have Eve being like, “He's not with the Twelve.” and V being like, “How do you know?”</p><p>I'm not saying my own delirium has soaked into my writing, but I'm not not saying that either. XD</p><p>I suppose Eve could've simply warned people and told them to go into hiding...but there were no guarantees that would've worked before they got what they needed. And again, boooring.</p><p>And I suppose there could have been this whole spy mission thing to gain intel on the twelve and whatnot but I didn't feel like writing that so left all the heavy lifting to Konstantin and his contact(s).</p><p>And I suppose Eve would totally want to destroy the twelve...but she also wanted to keep Villanelle safe...so doing more than threatening them back was probably about as far as she was willing to push things.</p><p>And now they get to live out the rest of their totally normal relationship in peace. Which for them probably means starting up a freelance murder business. XD </p><p>Anyway...I don't know if this is my swan song for this fandom...but I certainly won't be writing anything else for it for a long time. Just following in the tradition of the show. :P</p><p> </p><p>*In YT creator voice* If you enjoyed this fic, don't forget to like and comment. </p><p>Smell ya later. </p><p>Or not.</p>
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